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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Chap.._iz:L Copyright No. 


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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








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Why Not? 


By 

MYRA GOODWIN PLANTZ 

<h 

Author of “Corner Work,” “A Great Appointment,” etc. 



CINCINNATI : JENNINGS & PYE 
NEW YORK: EATON & MAINS 

\- . 


73176 

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j *v:> t'jnu. KtcMeo | 

; NOV 9 1900 

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j StCt’ND COPY. 

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i OitOLH DIVISION, 

j DEC 26J800 



COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY 
THE WESTERN METH- 
ODIST BOOK CONCERN 


Contents 

CHAPTER I page 

An Evening with Dickens, 7 

CHAPTER II 

The Brigands, 15 

CHAPTER III 

A New Attraction, 24 

CHAPTER IV 

Vanity Fair, 33 

CHAPTER V 

Two Important Decisions, 44 

CHAPTER VI 

A Working Girl’s Excuse, 54 

CHAPTER VII 

The Sheltered Girl’s Way of Amusement, 66 

CHAPTER VIII 

Saint Katherine, 75 

CHAPTER IX 

The Cooking Club, §5 

CHAPTER X 

Paul’s Rebellion, 94 

1 


2 


Contents 


CHAPTER XI p AGE 

Fresh Air Friends, 104 

CHAPTER XII 

Choosing for One World, 118 

CHAPTER XIII 

Choosing for Two Worlds, 129 

CHAPTER XIV 

An Unexpected Trouble, 140 

CHAPTER XV 

Reefs in Robert’s Way, 153 

CHAPTER XVI 

Maud’s Triumph, 161 

CHAPTER XVII 

Cousin Hannah’s Legacy, 170 

CHAPTER XVIII 

The Wanderer’s Return, 182 

CHAPTER XIX 

A Sister’s Influence, 196 

CHAPTER XX 

Peace at Last, 206 

CHAPTER XXI 

Cherry’s Mission, 216 

CHAPTER XXII 

One Taken and the Other Left, 225 

CHAPTER XXIII 

Katherine’s Comfort, 235 

The Added Things, 244 


& TO MY MOTHER, WHO HAS CONSTANTLY 
SHOWN THAT EARTHLY HAPPINESS COMES 
FROM SEEKING HEAVENLY THINGS, AND WHO 
HAS ALWAYS LEFT A GREEN OASIS WHER- 
EVER SHE HAS FOUND A DESERT PLACE 




















Why Not? 

5 













CHAPTER I 


An Evening with Dickens 

“WADIES and gentlemen, this is the celebrated 
Jarley collection. There is nothing like it on 
earth.” The audience could not doubt this statement, 
for when Mrs. Jarley stepped back she knocked the hat 
of Henry VIII over his eyes, and that figure’s waxen 
hand slyly pushed it in place again. Queen Elizabeth 
gave a smile above her broad ruff, and Sir Walter 
Raleigh, kneeling at her feet, frowned in disapproval. 
These trifles were not noticed by the audience, for 
with the use of paint and powder and almost perfect 
costumes the wax effect was striking. 

“This is Queen Elizabeth smiling at Raleigh,” went 
on Mrs. Jarley. “By touching a spring I can make 
her smile and nod her head. (Aside: “Don’t show 
your teeth, Anna.”) This is Sir Walter Raleigh, and 
the very mantle he used; but not the identical mud- 
puddle, for that would be too dry for this audience.” 

While Mrs. Jarley stepped to the rear to wipe the 
perspiration from beneath her ample bonnet, little 
Nell came to the front, with her sweet face wreathed in 
golden curls, and gave a description of the remaining 
figures, making such havoc with the big words that 
even the waxen faces relaxed. Mrs. Jarley came back 
to help the child, when the platform fell down with 
a crash, the valuable pieces in the collection falling 
over each other in wild confusion. The audience was 
7 


8 


Why Not 


moved to the rescue for Mrs. Jellyby, and Scrooge 
sprang for little Nell, Mr. Chadband lifted up Queen 
Elizabeth, while Mrs. Jarley cried, “I knew those 
stools would move and let our boards down at the 
wrong moment.” 

The gentlemen in the audience soon made the 
stage secure, the wax figures helped put themselves in 
place, and the exhibition went on until the curtain 
was drawn amid great applause. The wax figures 
soon returned, with the power of motion and speech 
added to their other attractions, and mingled with the 
gay company. As this was a gathering of people out 
of book-land, each had some special trait of character 
to represent. Mrs. Jellyby talked Borrioboola Gha 
matters with Mr. Boffin, who occasionally dropped 
into poetry. Betsey Prig and Sairy Gamp had opin- 
ions on nursing, while Mr. Chadband tried to convert 
Scrooge to his theological beliefs. Some of the com- 
pany peeped into notebooks for their brightest re- 
marks, and an hour was passed that would have made 
the most melancholy observer smile. Then refresh- 
ments were announced, and Mr. Chadband led the 
way with Mrs. Jarley, while little Nell clung to 
Scrooge, calling him “papa.” It was a warm Sep- 
tember evening, and the party overflowed upon the 
vine-covered veranda while dainty refreshments were 
served. The conversation took a more modern turn, 
and these quaint-looking people could be heard say- 
ing, “This is a great success, Margie ;” “Nell, your 
Sunday-school class is growing faster than mine. I 
must work harder ;” or, “Rob, are you finding Greek 
easy ?” 


c An Evening voith Dickens 


9 


At last the merry company dispersed, and the King 
family began to put out the lights and fasten up for 
the night. 

“We have had a splendid time, mamma. I ’m so 
glad you suggested this,” said Margaret, the eldest 
daughter. “Miss Snow said there had been more call 
for Dickens at the library in the last two weeks than 
in two years before.” 

“You girls deserve great credit for the way you 
have carried it through,” answered the mother. “If 
our young people have been shown the beauty and 
wit of my favorite author, I am satisfied. Could we 
have had so many good speeches from any modern 
writer ?” 

“A good deal of the talk in the modern novel is 
unfit to be repeated in the parlor, and most of it is 
very commonplace,” admitted Cherry, the second 
daughter, who had a passion for light literature. “But, 
mamma, after reading the modern love-story, where 
so much happens in each chapter, and where the 
villain is simply a realistic man, Dickens and Thack- 
eray, and even Scott, seem long and prosy, and 
Shakespeare too heavy.” 

“The clay-eaters of South Carolina get so they 
enjoy dirt,” said the mother. 

“No doubt you are right, mamma. We might get 
entertainment and some mental food in our recreation 
reading ; but, mamma, why is all this gayety safer than 
the theatrical club that absorbs Lena Porter? Would 
not some good people think it wicked to put sheets 
on a wire for a curtain?” 

“Perhaps,” replied Mrs. King, with a smile ; “that 


IO 


Why Not 


club uses the theater, while we use our dining-room. 
It uses plays prepared for the stage, while we use 
characters from books. The club players rent stage 
costumes, while ours came from attics. The people 
who belong to the club make a business of being 
amused, while those here to-night take amusement as 
an occasional tonic to freshen their faculties for the 
real business of life — serving God.” 

“See, poor Ruthie is asleep on the sofa. Do n’t 
get mamma sermonizing to-night,” said Robert, the 
young man of the family. 

“I ’ll carry her upstairs after we have a word of 
prayer,” said Mr. King, and the family knelt down in 
the confusion of the late festival, while the father 
thanked God for the happiness they had been able to 
give others, and prayed that the social evening just 
passed might quicken those who participated in it, 
mentally and spiritually. He ended with the petition, 
“Let us learn to plan even our amusements for Christ’s 
sake.” 

“That ’s the difference in the pleasures of worldly 
people and Christians,” said Margaret, as her father 
carried Ruth upstairs. “We choose even our recre- 
ations for Christ’s sake. Do you suppose a man can 
pray that earnestly when he returns from the theater?” 

“Why not, if he is a praying man?” asked Cherry. 

“I ’m too dead tired to argue with you ; but you 
know the theater has very few attractions for a man 
like papa.” 

“But why not?” insisted Cherry, though she got 
only darkness for answer, as her tall sister turned off 
the lights. 


cAn Evening *witb Dickens 


ii 


Upstairs Mr. King was saying to his wife, “This 
has all been pretty hard on you, my dear.” 

“No harder than a ball would have been, if I be- 
lieved in that kind of entertainment for my children,” 
replied Mrs. King. 

“Because some pleasant things are harmful, we 
must find pleasant things that are not.” 

They were not angels, these young people, but 
wide-awake, healthy young folk, earnestly trying to 
live for another world, but determined to enjoy all 
that was possible in this very present existence. So 
the next morning they were tired and sleepy, and 
Robert grumbled a little over his part of the work of 
cleaning up, and Margaret spoke impatiently to 
Tommy when he broke the stem of her favorite plant. 
The weariness soon wore off, and the memory of a 
happy time had its good effect, and under Mrs. King’s 
gentle management the house was soon in order, and, 
what was more important, every one was in a good 
humor. 

Margaret was a teacher in the village school, and 
Cherry a “Junior” in a college town not far away. 
Cherry’s vacation was about over, and the Dickens 
party was a farewell occasion for her friends. Robert 
had one more year in the city high school. Ruth and 
Tommy were still called “the children,” though a 
very important part of the family. Across the avenue 
Mrs. King’s sister lived in a handsome old place, and 
the pretty young lady daughters, Edith and Maud, 
and the son Charlie, seemed part of the King family. 

Mr. King was part owner in a woolen mill which 
made small profits, so the question of helping the fam- 


12 


Why Not 


ily early became an important one. A few days after 
the party, Robert came home in fine spirits. “Where ’s 
mamma?” rang through the house. “Mamma!” 
Robert cried, as he rushed into her room, upsetting 
the work-basket in his haste, “I ’ve gotten a chance to 
help a little. At least I can pay my car-fare and get 
some clothes. Mr. Johnson has offered me three dol- 
lars a week if I will stay in his store while he goes to 
supper, and work for him all day Saturday and Sun- 
day afternoon.” 

Mrs. King was tempted for a moment. “We need 
the money, and Robert can b'£ trusted to keep the 
Sabbath wherever he is,” was her first thought; but 
after a little she said, “Would that be the best way 
to spend Sunday? Could you make it ‘for Christ’s 
sake?’” 

“I will take my Bible or some good book, and do 
nothing wrong,” Robert answered, eagerly. 

“But you will have to give up Sunday-school, and 
sell cigars and let them be smoked there, and such 
visitors will not be very good company. O Robert, 
it is not the best way to observe the Sabbath !” 

If his mother had reminded him that he should be 
more careful because he was a Church member, he 
would have become determined at once to have his 
own way; but her loving, pleading look conquered. 

“So many good Christians work on Sunday I can’t 
quite see the harm. I ’ll give it up for your sake ; but it 
seems hard to be kept from making money. I had to 
give up my paper route on account of its being wrong 
to carry around the Sunday paper,” he said, gravely. 

“Thank you, my son. I have often given up some 


c /In Evening with Dickens 


i3 


cherished wish because some one older and wiser than 
I advised it, and I have never regretted it. There are 
things that people of the world do that even they agree 
are not best for Church members." 

“I do n't like to have my judgment hampered by 
Church rules," said Robert, loftily. 

“Perhaps some of them are too strict, but they are 
on the safe side," replied the mother. 

“I hate to be bound," said the son. 

“Most men do," replied Mrs. King, with a smile. 
“But the Ten Commandments are binding, and yet 
their observance brings the truest liberty." 

“I believe I am more afraid of being a prig than 
of doing wrong," admitted Robert; but the kiss his 
mother gave him took away some of the disappoint- 
ment he felt in the matter. Right actions do not al- 
ways receive an immediate reward ; but this time 
Robert lost nothing by standing for his Christian prin- 
ciples. In a few moments Margaret came home from 
school with some good news. 

“Where's mamma? O Robert, you in her cozy 
corner? I 've something that will make you as glad 
as the odor of stewed chicken and biscuit makes me." 

“Out with it, then," said the brother, who knew 
the comparison meant something choice. 

“Well, Dr. Clark stopped me to tell me his student 
had gone, and he wants you, Rob. He has been to 
some of your high-school teachers, and they speak 
well of you. He is writing a book, and wants some 
one who knows some Latin. He knew you wanted 
to study medicine, so thought you would do. He will 
give you three dollars a week for your spare time. 


*4 


Why Not 


He says you can study while in his office, and he thinks 
you will find some time for his medical works, and 
you can help him in many ways that will be of use 
in the future. He said if you staid a few years with 
him you could save a year in the medical school. 
There, don’t turn a handspring here. You are too 
long for anything but the back yard. But guess what 
first made him think of you, Rob. He said he had 
noticed that you went to Church with your mother 
every Sunday from the time you could walk, so he 
knew you must be an earnest, steady fellow/’ 

“Blessings on you, mother, for dragging me to 
Church for years when I wanted to fish or go skat- 
ing,” cried Robert, fairly beside himself with joy. “It 
is an honor I never dreamed of, Dr. Clark taking me 
up. You know he always sees a fellow through, and 
his men get first places in the city hospitals, and he 
never knows when he has paid enough. It is n’t often 
one can earn a little and get all Dr. Clark gives. I 
feel already as if I could see my name on a shingle, 
and was ready to set a broken bone.” 

“You won’t have a chance unless it is a chicken 
bone,” said Mr. King, who had come in during the 
excitement over his son’s good prospects. He tried 
to show his children how well it paid to be considered 
a faithful Christian ; but the moral was lost on the 
prospective doctor, who was trying to decide in his 
own mind whether he would be a famous surgeon or 
write standard medical works. 


CHAPTER n 


The Brigands - 

“ DLEASE do n’t go, Rob.” 

* “It ’s only a boy’s club, Margie/’ answered Rob- 
ert, with darkening brows. 

“You know I do n’t object when you go off camp- 
ing with the boys or to your ball games; but if you 
are pledged to keep even your place of meeting secret, 
this can’t be the best thing. We are to covet the best 
things, Rob.” 

“Do n’t preach, Margie.” 

“No, I ’ll just ask you to settle it by our family 
standard. Can you belong to this new club, ‘for His 
sake?’ Are you sure the boys care about what Jesus 
would do?” said the sister, gently. 

“O come, Marg. Of course Jesus did not belong 
to a night club, nor to a Shakespeare club,” was the 
answer the young man thought convincing. 

“Our aim is mental improvement and better social 
life. One of our desires is so to fill our thoughts with 
good things that we won’t think of gossip when we 
meet. There is no doubt but all this would be ap- 
proved by Jesus if he were here. If your purpose is 
as good in your boys’ club you had better go; only 
please let mamma know where you are,” insisted 
Margaret. 

“One of the rules is that no one shall know where 

15 


i6 


Why Not 


we are. I ’ll give it up for your sake, Margie. It 
is n’t quite up to your measure of good amuse- 
ments.” 

Margaret kissed her tall brother. She hoped the 
time would soon come when he would deny himself 
questionable things for the sake of the Master he was 
trying to serve, rather than to please her ; but she was 
very thankful for the influence she had over strong- 
willed Robert, and knew that it could be used “for 
His sake.” 

The new club had been started by Harold Porter. 
He had brought half a dozen paper-backed books 
from the city one day, one of which was a thrilling tale 
of “The Boy Brigands.” This was a well-written story 
of its kind, fascinating in plot, and with a romantic 
glamour over the villainy that would deceive the very 
elect. The book held up the life of a border ruffian as 
so heroic that some of the younger boys pined for some- 
thing that would enliven the dull routine of a youth 
who was not winning his spurs by deeds of knightly 
valor or the perils of a bandit. Harold proposed they 
have a secret club, in which they could have a little 
fun out of the ordinary line. The place of meeting 
was soon selected. In the outskirts of the village was 
a haunted house. It had been left vacant when its 
owner committed suicide many years before. The 
miserable man had left a note saying the devil wanted 
his soul, but he wished his body left under his own 
maple-trees. The story went that his ghost was often 
seen flitting through the trees, and at midnight it 
would sink into the grave in the thicket where a white 
stone added to the grewsome air of the place. 


The Brigands 


1 7 


Now after years of silence there was a stir in the 
haunted house, for the “Brigands” had selected this 
sheltered spot as a “club-house.” They were very 
safe from interruption, for the people in the colored 
settlement near avoided this path, and the sons of Erin 
on the other side crossed themselves and hurried by 
without stopping to investigate any sounds they might 
have heard from the old house. 

It was hard to find in Rockville “any adventure 
worthy of the spirit of a man,” to quote their captain, 
young Porter. They could not burn buildings, nor 
fight Indians, nor have a few murders “in self- 
defense,” as the paper boy brigands had done, so 
nothing “spirited” was left but to frighten the igno- 
rant people in that neighborhood. A large back room 
was arranged so a light could be had without being 
seen from the street. Here was an old-fashioned fire- 
place, which could be supplied by foraging around the 
neighboring woodpiles when the “Brigands” were too 
lazy to pick up logs in the strip of woodland near. 

“Of course, this is only play,” said Harold Porter. 
“So taking a few chips and a log now and then is not 
stealing.” 

Some of the boys who had been brought up as 
Charlie Harland, in a Christian family, objected to 
getting supplies from woodpiles, orchards, arbors 
where late grapes were still hanging, and gardens 
where vegetables were not all gathered in ; but Cap- 
tain Porter carried the day, and more than one Irish 
brother thought the witches had a spite at his wood- 
pile. After a while the colored people believed they 
were imposed upon by their Irish neighbors, and they 


i8 


Why Not 


in turn accused the darker element of theft, so there 
was discord in that neighborhood. 

“Now for a good time, my men,” Captain Porter 
said one evening when a dozen “Brigands” had stolen 
in to camp. “Here ’s a good fire, and a candle such 
as it is; but robbers are not commanded to let their 
light shine. I made a raid on Bridget’s pantry, and 
here ’s an end of a ham and a couple of pumpkin-pies. 
She ’ll say it was a tramp, and mamma will think it ’s 
Bridget’s cousin taking an evening bite wid her. 
What a pity Rob deserted us, for he was once so full 
of fun. We need him here for chaplain. About all 
he ’s good for is to ask the blessing on our midnight 
meal.” 

“Rob ’s no baby,” spoke up his cousin Charles. 
“He is trying a different road, and it is like him to do 
it for all he ’s worth.” 

“Of course, only I ’m glad piety has n’t struck us 
all at the same time,” said Harold. 

Charlie flushed and several of the boys looked 
away, for they were among the number who decided 
to be Christians when Robert had joined the Church. 
They were from homes where they were taught “boys 
will be boys,” and they intended to change their ways 
when these same friends expected them to be men. 

The tea-kettle was soon singing on the hearth, and 
the odor of fragrant coffee came from an old coffee- 
pot on the coals. Potatoes were roasting in the 
hot ashes, and apples bursting on strings before 
the fire. 

“Now, my men,” said the captain, “we can play 
while our supper is cooking, and then be ready when 


The Brigands 


i9 


the colored meeting-house goes by; for when there 
are a lot of them they brave the old man’s ghost.” 

Harold then took out a pack of well-worn cards, 
and the boys who understood the game took part 
while the rest watched with interest, though some ob- 
jected to pennies being used in the game. After the 
games the supper was certainly a merry feast, eaten 
off of paper plates or broken dishes, or anything not 
common to civilized man. The drinking-cups were of 
all varieties, one boy using a cocoanut-shell. All this 
was made more exciting because conversation had to 
be carried on in whispers. 

“Here, pards,” said Harold, “I slipped off a bottle 
of wine that the governor keeps for congressmen and 
other defenders of our country. If any of you, as 
Sunday-school infants, have signed the pledge, there 
is a jug of sweet cider in the corner for the Band of 
Hope ; but, for that matter, this is all play, and do n’t 
count promises made in dead earnest.” 

Under Harold's influence the boys forgot their 
pledges, though some of them went to the black jug 
instead of the more inviting bottle. 

Then came the great event of the evening, the 
appearance of the ghost. Weird lights flashed from 
the windows, and strange noises came from the old 
house, while a tall, shrouded figure was seen gliding 
through the trees, and some one hurrying by declared 
that the ghost sank into the old miser's grave. The 
Catholic friends returning from a wake attributed their 
disturbed vision to the quality of whisky furnished by 
the friends of the deceased. The colored brethren 
thought each one who had seen the ghost was to die 


20 


Why Not 


before the end of the year, and some of them began 
to live accordingly; so all this would have been only 
the joke the boys planned if little Tim, the sexton’s 
boy, had not been one of the victims. His mother 
was so sick his father could not go after medicine, so 
the timid boy had to take the walk late at night. He 
hurried home by the haunted house, and was one of 
the number who saw the ghost. Tim ran for his life, 
and burst into the cottage, crying, 'Tap, the spokes 
is after me.” The boys, who stole home at night, did 
not know why there was a light in the sexton’s cottage, 
though afterwards when they heard of the long illness 
that followed the colored boy’s fright they were re- 
morseful enough when it was too late. As the boys 
expected, the "haunted house” was soon the talk of 
the neighborhood. It became to the Brigands a fasci- 
nating place of resort. If the mothers had seen their 
boys smoking cigarettes, and drinking over soiled 
cards, or reading flashy books, which often invited 
coarse stories, they would have made a raid upon the 
den of the Brigands ; but they said among themselves, 
"The boys have something they are enjoying, and 
boys must have some fun ; only it is too bad they slip 
in so late, for that we have to keep from their fathers 
to avoid trouble.” 

There was one Irishman, however, who could not 
be outwitted by a few schoolboys. At first he ran 
when he saw the ghost, and prayed to all the saints in 
the calendar; but one night he was bold enough to 
slip to the side of the house with the nailed shutters. 
Sure enough, there were strange noises that made 
his hair stand straight ; but it soon took its natural 


The Brigands 


21 


position, for the listener was reassured by a genuine 
boyish laugh. It was an easy thing to cut out a slat 
of the blind, and see the young fellows enjoying fried 
ham and eggs. 

“Now, comrades/’ Captain Harold was saying, 
“we must leave part of our rations until after the 
Paddies get home from their meeting. You fellows 
fix the lights upstairs, and I ’ll get my sheet and 
scare the potato-eaters out of what wits they have 
left.” 

“Faith, an’ it ’s mesilf as will show ye’s what wit an 
Irishman has in his fist,” muttered Pat O’Flanigan, 
under his breath. “It ’s mesilf that ’s been missin’ 
illigant chips the night.” 

Pat had the luck to meet a fellow-workman, and 
they were soon ready for all the ghosts and witches 
that might care to appear. Before long the workmen 
hurrying home from their meeting at the “Red Lion” 
saw the old miser’s ghost glide out of his grave. He 
did not glide far, for a pair of strong arms encircled 
the form and began to beat his ghostly presence with- 
out mercy. 

“Help ! murder !” screamed the poor victim, with 
such power his captives concluded they had better 
take a more quiet way of punishment. 

“O, me laddie, we ’re after showin’ ye’s the wit of 
an Irishman is n’t as dry as ye think ; fur we ’re after 
drownin’ ye in 'the run fur nearly killin’ Tim wid yer 
nonsense,” said Pat. 

“Yes, an’ fur scarin’ me childers so they can’t sleep 
o’ nights,” said Mike McCarty, who had lost some 
sleep himself. 


22 


Why Not 


It was of no use for the judge’s son to plead for 
mercy and offer his pocket money for a month; for 
both these men had been kept sober for a week on 
account of seeing a warning of death, and this must 
be avenged. Together they dragged the boy to the 
brook back of the house, and threw him in. Of course 
they only meant to frighten the young fellow; but if 
Harold had not been a man in size and strength it 
would have ended seriously, as he had a hard time 
gaining the slippery bank in his long winding sheet. 
When he did get to a place of safety he sank down, 
completely exhausted until the cool wind revived him 
again. He was drenched to the skin; so he slipped 
home through alleys and close to fences, for he did 
not want his comrades to know of his humiliation. 
When the other “Brigands” returned to the haunted 
house they found the fire had been put out and the 
provisions taken. They waited in terror for their cap- 
tain, not mean enough to desert him, but trembling 
for fear one of the few police officers of the town 
might fall upon them. At a late hour the boys were 
startled by the sound of rough voices, and took to 
their heels as if all the witches of witchland were chas- 
ing them. Soon after there was a blaze in the north 
end of town, and the haunted house burned to the 
ground. No one regretted it but some sleepless boys, 
who located the burning building with great anxiety, 
lest some of the “Brigands” had been fastened in the 
old house and left to perish. 

Harold gave a plausible story about being as- 
saulted by a tramp and badly bruised. It was some 
time before Pat told his story, and as the miser’s ghost 


The Brigands 23 

disappeared with the haunted house the matter was 
soon forgotten. 

But after so much excitement the “Brigands” found 
their usual recreations a little tame, and their restric- 
tions about late hours, more than ever, tyranny. 
Books that were entertaining before were dull after 
the tales devoured at the “Den.” Thus a slow, de- 
vouring fire was left burning in some young hearts, 
more to be dreaded than the kind that consumed the 
haunted house 


CHAPTER HI 


A New Attraction 

“I THINK you are too Puritanical in your notions, 
* Maggie,” Mrs, Harland said to her sister one day. 
“I want my girls to have perfect happiness in their 
girlhood days. You remember we had to sacrifice a 
good many pleasures on account of want of money. 
Then, being a minister’s daughters, we were kept from 
many amusements, that we might be examples to the 
other lambs of the flock. The cares of life come soon 
enough.” 

“That is one reason I want my girls to be a little 
prepared to meet them,” replied Mrs. King, with a 
smile. “If I were sure life could be one long holiday 
I might plan differently for my children. But, after 
all, we had very happy girlhood days. Do n’t you 
think minister’s daughters have special advantages in 
many ways?” 

“O yes, they are admitted to any social circle in 
spite of their plain clothes, or at least we were. But 
still I do not want my daughters to think I am not in 
fullest sympathy with them in all their little plans for 
a good time,” replied Mrs. Harland. “I just found 
Tommy trying to shave the cat with his papa’s new 
razor. I felt, for the sake of the cat and boy and 
razor, I had to show that I was not in full sympathy 
with my son’s plan for amusement,” answered Mrs. 
King. 


24 


A New Attraction 


25 


Mrs. Harland laughed, and said : “It was a mistake 
that you were not a man and a preacher, Margaret, 
for you can turn everything to good account in point- 
ing a moral. Well, we will see how it will all end. 
Sometimes children brought up to have a good time 
make as earnest men and women, when the real battle 
of life comes, as those who have been trained to be 
heroic from the cradle/’ 

“Yes, men snatched from the plows and stores 
often win as great battles as the regulars; but I im- 
agine it is harder to march and shoot without some 
preparation/’ answered Mrs. King. 

“You always did manage to get the best of an argu- 
ment/’ said the sister. “Anyway, I must hurry home 
to get ready for my afternoon tea.” 

Mrs. Harland walked up the long driveway, now 
robbed of its summer beauty, in a thoughtful frame of 
mind. She had never taken life as seriously as her 
sister, and was wondering why she had not been the 
happier of the two. As a matter of fact, Mrs. King 
had borne more burdens, and had more hard work 
and fewer luxuries, yet had kept a sunny, contented 
spirit, that was often a mystery to her sister. Ruth 
and Tommy were having a romp on their way from 
school in a way that did not look as if they felt any 
restraint upon their happiness, because some things 
were forbidden they might have enjoyed. Later Mar- 
garet came home with Robert, and they seemed to be 
in a very merry frame of mind, not one bit saddened 
because each was trying to help in the support of the 
family. Mrs. Harland glanced at her own pretty 
daughters, who had been “finished” at a fashionable 


26 


Why Not 


school, and wondered if she had been wise in making 
happiness the first thought in life. The girls were 
waiting with a new plan for amusement. 

“O mamma, please let us dance this winter/ 55 began 
Edith, in her sweet, caressing way. “We will not go 
to public gatherings, nor dance with any one you 
would not like to see in our parlor; but every one 
dances now, and it means we will be left out by the 
best people if we refuse." 

“You have not been left out before/ 5 said the 
mother. 

“No; but we often have to be wall-flowers/ 5 spoke 
up Maud. “Of course, we danced with the girls at 
school; but we do not know much about it. We want 
to take lessons. You have said yourself, mamma, 
that dancing makes a young lady graceful and gives 
her a good carriage/ 5 

“Delsarte will do the same,” replied Mrs. Harland. 
“'Cherry and Margaret think it very interesting. Why 
don't you join that class?" answered Mrs. Harland. 

“O mamma, there are no boys in it, and it 's just 
poky hard work. 1 5 d just as lief sweep to develop my 
strength. Dancing is real’ pleasure/ 5 said Maud. 

“Girls, you know it is your father's prominent po- 
sition in the Church that has kept me from wishing 
you to dance. There are many in our Church who 
think it wrong, and I have felt that papa ought to be 
gratified in this wish, as he does everything in the 
world for you girls," said the mother, and then seeing 
their sorrowful faces, she added: “I wish you could 
be happy without dancing ; but if you can't, you might 
dance with Lena and Harold. But do n't have any- 


A New Attraction 


27 


thing to do with that little dancing-master the girls 
are talking about, for your father has heard something 
against his character that would make him very angry 
if you should be thrown with him.” 

“O mamma, you are so kind/’ said Edith, kissing 
her mother. “You never forget how you felt when 
you were young. We won’t dance in any public way, 
yet we hate to be left out of all the parties. I ’ll attend 
prayer-meeting and help you in your Church work 
better than ever, just to show you that dancing does 
not make me one bit less earnest in my Christian life.” 

“I would deeply regret it if it did,” said Mrs. Har- 
land. “I can not tell you the joy your father and I 
had when our daughters took a decided stand for 
Christ. I am hoping that your influence will soon 
bring Charlie into a better state of heart. I can’t help 
feeling that he is drifting away from his pure, innocent 
boyhood life.” 

The girls went away with bright faces ; but the 
mother had an uncomfortable feeling in her heart. 
As a girl she had longed for many pleasures not 
thought suitable for a minister’s daughter, and had 
determined to give her daughters greater liberty. But 
Mr. Harland had been very decided on the question of 
dancing, so the young ladies had had little opportunity 
to gratify their tastes in that direction. A year before 
both girls had found Christ, and had united with the 
Church, and had lost all desire for the fashionable life 
that was just outside their reach. There had come a 
new vigor and strength of purpose to indolent Edith, 
so she had taken up a Sunday-school class with great 
earnestness. Maud had found the power to control 


28 


Why Not 


her quick temper and the desire to have her way at 
any cost, and the mother had great reason for thank- 
fulness in the real, if not very decided Christian lives 
of her daughters. 

“I am afraid it will not help their spiritual growth,” 
Mrs. Harland thought, with a sigh. “But they will 
not be young but once, and I want them to remember 
a happy girlhood. ,, 

Upstairs the girls were talking in great excite- 
ment. 

“We will do just as we have promised mamma, 
and she will let us go to the reception at Judge Por- 
ter’s. The governor and the Legislature are coming 
down, and some great men from Washington. Of 
course, mamma can not refuse to let us dance there, 
for they are such old friends, almost relatives. And 
we must practice every moment so we will do well. 
You must coax for the party dresses, Edith, for we 
could not wear high-necked, dark-silk dresses there.” 

“O, no. Lena has her first evening dress, a white 
silk trimmed in pink velvet. “Won’t she look lovely?” 

“Yes,” went on Maud. “And Cousin Hannah has 
invited Lena and Cherry for the Christmas holidays. 
What a pity we can’t go, for Ch'erry won’t appreciate 
it! Lena will enjoy every moment.” 

“But, then, she is not a Church member, and 
Cherry is,” said Edith. “Cherry can’t help looking 
at the theater and all that in a different light. I am 
sorry our first practice in dancing comes to-night. 
You know we have not missed the young people’s 
meeting, when we were home, since we joined the 
Church.” 


A Ne<zv Attraction 


29 


“The more reason we should be excused, since we 
have been as faithful as the janitor/' replied Maud, 
with an uneasy laugh. “I want to be a Christian ; but 
I want some pleasure too. I think a Church like Mrs. 
Porter's a good one, where you can be very devout 
over your prayer-book on Sunday, and do as you 
please the rest of the week. It reminds me of the 
sermon we heard about going in and out, and finding 
pasture. I would like just such a Church, where I 
could get all the good in religion, and the giddy pleas- 
ures of the world too." 

“But there are some earnest Christians in Mrs. 
Porter's Church," reminded Edith. “But you can’t 
compare many of them with Aunt Maggie." 

“O no, I won’t pretend. I do n't want to be a 
fashionable Christian. After I have had all the fun 
I want, I mean to settle down and be like Aunt Mag- 
gie. I want people to care for my opinion, and want 
me in trouble. Now write your letter and let me 
finish this fascinating story. The heroine has just 
eloped with a married man. Dreadful, I know; but 
it is told in such a beautiful way, it seems all right for 
him to go off with the woman he loves. Naughty 
things seem almost right in a novel, do n't they ?" 

“No, indeed," said the older sister in alarm. “How 
can you read such trash. I shall certainly have to tell 
mamma if you do n't stop reading all the new realistic 
novels. I do n't see what is real in them. We would 
despise such people in real life. You can't help but 
think about the things they suggest. No wonder you 
have queer dreams sometimes. Papa would feel dread- 
ful if you told him the plot of that story." 

3 


30 


Why Not 


“I suppose you are right. I think every time I 
read such a book I won't touch one of this kind again ; 
but when I get hold of one it is hard to resist. I bor- 
rowed this from Lena. It has made the author famous 
whatever you may say," answered Maud, laying the 
book down with burning face, and then taking it up as 
a drunkard might a glass of wine he could not resist. 

“I guess the strait-laced people are right, that the 
less you have to do with bad things the better," re- 
marked Edith, with a sigh. She wished she had tried 
to influence her sister in regard to her reading. She 
could only hope that she would get disgusted with the 
trash she was devouring, and seek something better. 
She thought that dancing might prove a good diver- 
sion from bad books. 

At the young people’s meeting that evening, the 
sweet voices of the Harland girls were missed, for the 
young ladies were at the Porter mansion taking their 
first dancing lesson. 

Mrs. Porter gave Edith and Maud a warm wel- 
come. 

“I am so glad you girls can have some pleasure be- 
sides poky Church socials," she said, with her kiss of 
greeting. “I expect to have a good deal of company 
for Lena this winter, as it is her first winter out, and 
I shall depend on you girls to help us entertain." 

Thus flattered, the sisters soon forgot their regrets 
about neglecting the Church duty, and were the gayest 
of the young people whom Mrs. Porter had invited 
in for the evening. Just as one of the company was 
beginning to play for the dance the footman ushered 
in “Monsieur De Failles." 


A Ne<w Attraction 


3i 


“Ah, Monsieur, how fortunate !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Porter. “I am charmed to see you at this moment. 
I must beg you to stay an hour or two, for these young 
people are going to dance a little, and you will be kind 
enough to give them a few instructions. I am sure 
they will appreciate it. A thing done in play might 
as well be done properly." 

“Monsieur" hesitated, but finally allowed madam 
to claim an hour of his valuable time. 

Mrs. Porter's own children suspected her of hav- 
ing arranged the timely appearance of the dancing- 
master, for she was not to be outwitted in her social 
schemes by mothers who would not allow their daugh- 
ters instruction from the little Frenchman. 

“What shall we do?" Edith whispered to her sis- 
ter. “You knew mamma drew the line on this 
man. There are all kinds of stories about his 
past life." 

“Mrs. Porter must think be is all right, or she 
would not allow him in her home with Lena," an- 
swered Maud. 

“It is n’t as if we had known he was to be here, 
and he may never come again," said Edith, hesitat- 
ingly. 

“Come, girls, do n’t you see we are waiting for you 
to make up the set," called Lena, and as the music 
began the sisters joined the Lancers. It was soon 
apparent the little dancing-master was there to teach 
a new step, and the Harland girls were among his 
pupils. 

“After all,” Maud whispered to her sister, “if it ’s 
right to dance at all it is right to dance well, and since 


32 Why Not 

we can’t help this good opportunity we might as well 
pay close attention.” 

Edith and Maud went home perfectly fascinated 
with their first attempt at dancing. It seemed such 
a happy, harmless thing to glide through the graceful 
figures inspired by intoxicating music, that these im- 
aginative girls felt they were transported to a new 
world. Mrs. Porter had added to the pleasure of the 
evening by serving a dainty little supper, and had 
urged the young people to drop in once a week and 
consider themselves a little club, as most of them did 
not care to dance in a more public way. 

The Harland girls were late in getting home, and 
were too tired to pay much attention to their evening 
prayers, though they knelt by the bedside as usual. 
Between the late supper and the unusual excitement 
they were awake until morning, and did not get down 
stairs until nearly nine o’clock, scarcely to taste the 
breakfast their mother kept waiting. They said noth- 
ing about the little Frenchman, and the mother was 
too busy to notice how little they did that day but 
talk of the evening before. She saw they were happy, 
and was satisfied as long as bright faces were around 
her. 


CHAPTER IV 


Vanity Fair 


HERRY KING’S real name was Hannah, in 



^ honor of a cousin of her father’s. Little Hannah 
was so round and so rosy her father called her Cherry, 
and the old Bible name was forgotten. As her lips 
and cheeks kept their rich color, and her disposition 
was sunshine itself, the family agreed that only 
“Cherry,” or “Cheery,” would do for this maiden. 
Cousin Hannah was also related to Mrs. Porter, and 
this connection strengthened an intimacy between the 
families that often troubled Mrs. King, as her ideas 
of life were entirely different from those of her fash- 
ionable friend. Mrs. Harland often said : “We ought 
to be glad that our girls have the friendship of such 
a distinguished woman as Mrs. Porter. She can give 
them some ideas of polite society we can not, and we 
can surely watch them closely enough to keep them 
from things in which we think our friend is mis- 
taken.” Mrs. Harland was disappointed when her 
daughters were left out of the holiday invitation, while 
Mrs. King was somewhat troubled that Cherry would 
have to accept. 

“Mamma, I know Lena Porter, and will not be in- 
fluenced by her a moment,” Cherry assured her 
mother. “Perhaps I can get some idea of real life 
in her little frizzled head.” 

“Cousin Hannah is a good woman in her way, 


33 


34 


Why Not 


Cherry. She would go to heaven if she should die 
this moment; but she does not lead as many that way 
as she might if her position were used for the Lord. 
You will meet all kinds of people at her home. But, 
of course, you are old enough to choose for yourself. 
You will have an opportunity to try the strength of 
your convictions,” answered the mother. “Margaret 
visits her and does as she would at home, and it never 
offends Cousin Hannah. She always writes how much 
better she is after Margaret’s visits.” 

“And you fear I can’t be a missionary too ?” 
laughed Cherry. “You know that I am like the little 
lamb that kept thinking the grass outside the fence 
looked sweeter than that in the fold. Sometimes I do 
feel like scrambling off with the wild goats and having 
one good time; but I promise I won’t even put my 
nose beyong the cast-iron principles of my bring- 
ing up.” 

Mrs. King sighed as she looked at her lively 
daughter, whose eyes were flashing with mischief. 
She did not want her children to keep from question- 
able things because of any one’s opinions, but because 
they wanted the best things in life. But she smiled 
fondly on Cherry, when the loving daughter kissed 
her troubled brow and said gayly, “You can’t make a 
saint out of the likes of me, marma ; but I ’ll be a regu- 
lar camp-meeting to Cousin Hannah while I am in her 
Vanity Fair.” 

The very first evening of the visit Cherry’s good 
resolutions weakened, for the old lady welcomed the 
girls with a party of her gay young admirers. 

Cousin Hannah had been a great beauty in her 


Vanity Fair 


35 


day, and still made a picture with her fluffy white hair 
puffed above her face, where powder and delicate 
touches of rouge smoothed away the touches of age. 
She was exceedingly fond of beautiful clothes, but 
more from love of the beautiful than personal vanity. 
For the same reason she wanted her young guests to 
appear at their best, so sent her maid to dress them 
for the party. When Cherry's coil of smooth braids 
became a mass of curls and puffs on the top of her 
head, after the latest fashion, she hardly knew herself 
in the long French mirror. This same head was some- 
what turned when she heard a dashing young man 
ask: “Who is that peachy girl in blue? Isn't she 
stunning?" 

Cherry meant to take her stand at first against 
what she had known as worldly amusements, so she 
refused to join the Lancers, though she knew she could 
go through a set without any instruction. The Vir- 
ginia reel proved too much for her, as it was more of 
a walk than a dance, and she went through it with the 
pleasure of a child. She played for Lena when she 
sang, and Cousin Hannah was much gratified with 
the compliments given her young relatives. As . the 
old lady had expected, they were showered with 
invitations for all kinds of festivities during the 
holidays. 

“Children, here are your Christmas presents," 
Cousin Hannah said the next day, taking them into a 
room where the bed was covered with shining folds 
of silk. “The blue is for you, Cherry. It will tone 
down your bright color. And the pink is for Lena. 
I have engaged the dressmaker, so they will be done 


36 


Why Not 


immediately. I want them for the Charity Ball, which 
is our big social event the coming week. ,, 

Both girls hugged and kissed the old lady until 
she felt satisfied that her presents had given the pleas- 
ure she desired. The girls found yards of creamy lace 
with the delicate silks, white gloves, slippers, and fans 
to match, and had reason to call Cousin Hannah their 
fairy godmother. 

That evening Cousin Hannah took them to the 
great Oratorio — “The Messiah.” Lena listened with 
the appreciation of a musician ; but Cherry got even 
more than fine music well rendered. Her soul was 
thrilled with the meaning of it all. Her deepest nature 
responded to the uplifting masterpiece. The night 
before she did not feel inclined to read her Bible nor 
even say her prayers ; but after this entertainment she 
felt no shadow on her soul, but rather that she was 
nearer God than ever before. 

“We are invited to lunch in the finest home in 
Clifton to-day,” Cousin Hannah said the next morn- 
ing as they lingered over their late breakfast. “After 
that we will take in an afternoon reception, where you 
will meet the most fashionable ladies of the city, and 
this evening I shall give you a treat. I have a box 
for ‘Faust/ and you will hear the most noted prima 
donna on the stage.” 

“But, Cousin Hannah, is n’t the opera the same 
as the theater?” asked Cherry, anxiously. 

“No, indeed. While devout people draw the line 
on the theater, any one can go to the opera. It is the 
music, not the acting, one cares for in an opera. 
Besides, there is a great lesson in ‘Faust/ I would 


Vanity Fair 37 

not listen to everything on the operatic stage,” an- 
swered the elder lady. 

“1 Ve heard so little good music, I ought to go 
for educational reasons,” said Cherry. “You know, 
Cousin Hannah, although we live so near a large city, 
I have not had money to have the advantages of it. 
I ’m only a little country girl, and ought to see all I 
can while I have an opportunity.” 

Cousin Hannah smiled at Cherry’s reasoning. She 
wanted the girls to have a good time; so did not try 
to influence them to practice what seemed to her self- 
denial. 

Judge Porter had a handsome home; but it was 
not too large or stately to lose its homelike air. The 
palace where the girls took lunch had nothing home- 
like about it. It was a great show-house, and Cherry 
decided she was glad she did not have to eat every 
day with a liveried servant behind her chair. Cherry 
was glad when the formal affair was over, and they 
were in the carriage on their way to the next function. 
“I feel so stiff and frozen up after that dismal way of 
tasting a dozen samples, that I would like to get out 
and run down this hill with the children,” Cherry an- 
nounced. 

“You can not. For once you have to be a fash- 
ionable lady, instead of a village girl,” said Lena, who 
was quite in her element. 

Cherry found the reception even less to her liking, 
for the house was stifling with heat and the odor of 
flowers, and so crowded it was impossible to do more 
than struggle from one room to another. There was 
nothing to do but follow the crowd, as retreat was 


38 


Why Not 


impossible. After standing for a long time waiting 
for a bit of salad with a wafer, and equally long for 
a hint of a delicious ice, Miss Kenneth was able to get 
her young ladies to the dressing-room, and finally to 
the carriage. 

“I helped do a washing once; but this is harder 
work,” said Cherry. “Cousin Hannah, how do you 
stand it?” 

“Old people are smarter than girls these days,” 
replied the old lady, with twinkling eyes. “I do not 
often attempt such a thing as this ; but I wanted you 
to see a form of entertainment you do not have at 
home. This is larger than usual, for this family 
has not had immense wealth long, and would invite 
every one who might give them any social recog- 
nition.” 

“Call it entertainment if you will,” sighed Cherry, 
sinking back in the soft cushions of the carriage. “I 
call it simply a mob.” 

The evening compensated for the wearing social 
duties of the day, for the village girls were completely 
carried away with the opera. Cherry enjoyed both 
the music and the acting. 

Lena was captivated with the handsome young 
barytone, and waved her hand in the applause that fol- 
lowed one of his efforts. He saw the bright young 
face leaning out of the box in sweet, girlish uncon- 
sciousness, and gave her a look and bow that made 
Lena draw back blushing, but not displeased. She 
noticed that the last glance of those brilliant eyes 
was for her, and she could not get the look out of her 
mind after the curtain had fallen. Neither of the girls 


Vanity Fair 


39 


felt in a mood for devotions that night, and Cherry 
gave it up with “Now I lay me.” Lena did not even 
try to forget for a moment the exciting scenes of the 
evening. 

The next morning Cousin Hannah observed that 
her young guests looked tired, and said there must be 
a rest in the morning, and only a drive in the after- 
noon. 

“I am looking for the nicest young man in the 
city for dinner at six,” she said, “and you must get 
your roses back, for I am determined not to let him 
marry out of my family, if I can help it.” 

Cherry was glad of some quiet hours, for she had 
intended to work on a college oration in Cousin Han- 
nah’s fine library; but she found her mind was so full 
of the gayeties of the season she could not command 
her thoughts. 

Cousin Hannah’s favorite young gentleman proved 
more interesting than some of the rich men’s sons 
that she had introduced to the young ladies. He even 
entered heartily into a talk about college life until 
Cousin Hannah brought out the cards, which she con- 
sidered necessary for the solace of her old age. Before 
this she had contented herself with Lena for a partner ; 
but this evening she insisted on Cherry’s learning the 
game. Mr. Stevens added his persuasion, and Cherry 
felt it discourteous to refuse. She proved such an apt 
pupil, that Mr. Stevens questioned this being her first 
attempt. While he was making great efforts to in- 
struct Cherry, she was regarding him with inward 
scorn. “He does not have an idea beyond the ace of 
spades or queen of hearts,” she was thinking. “What 


40 Why Not 

a poor way to show off a college education and study 
abroad !” 

Although Cherry thought him very inferior to her 
college classmates, she accepted the invitation he gave 
for a theater party for Saturday evening. 

“There is really no difference in acting to music, or 
using common conversation, and this is a very cele- 
brated artist,” said Mr. Stevens, surprised that Cherry 
hesitated when Lena accepted the invitation so readily, 
and in a sort of desperate mood Cherry consented 
to go. 

The next day was Christmas, and the girls went 
with Cousin Hannah to Church in the morning. 
Cherry was homesick for the home gayety and the 
simple presents over which they had such good times. 
She missed carrying something to the poor children 
that always shared the Christmas cheer of the King 
family. Cousin Hannah had spent a large sum of 
money on her friends and servants ; but her gifts were 
to those she loved, and who returned her favors in 
some way. Christmas night brought the Charity Ball. 
The great Music Hall was decorated with flowers and 
flags, and filled with elegantly-dressed people. Lena 
was among the graceful dancers, while Cherry sat in 
the balcony with Cousin Hannah, who held a small 
court around her. Cherry enjoyed the brilliant scene, 
and, most of all, the knowledge that she was beautifully 
dressed for the first time in her life. It was not silly 
vanity, but admiration for the beautiful so often taken 
for something sinful in young people. 

A handsome young naval officer devoted himself 
to Cherry, insisting that she promenade with him, as 


Vanity Fair 


4 * 


she would not dance. In the most delicate way the 
young man praised Cherry’s bright eyes and brilliant 
complexion, and increased her pleasure in her pretty 
dress into positive personal vanity. He held her arm 
more closely than any one had dared do before, and 
whispered that he wished she waltzed, as he saw those 
on the floor had an unfair advantage over him. He 
wondered girls did not realize this, and be more hu- 
mane when not dancing. He said all this in a laugh- 
ing, joking way, and Cherry answered back with her 
quick wit, not understanding at the time the meaning 
of half the young officer said. She was a very inno- 
cent, simple-hearted girl, and really thought with 
quickening heart-beats that the young man beside her 
had fallen in love at first sight. Imagine her mortifi- 
cation and chagrin when she heard this dashing young 
officer speak of her to a comrade as they were passing 
out in the crowd, Cherry with Cousin Hannah’s arm 
tucked in her own, “I thought I had gotten hold of the 
sweetest, most innocent, little country girl to-night, 
masquerading as a fine lady, but I found her, like the 
rest of these spoiled girls, an old hand at flirting.” 
Poor Cherry! her cheeks blazed with shame and in- 
dignation for hours. Was talking that kind of non- 
sense flirting? Anyway she had learned her lesson. 
She would never again accept marked attention from 
a young man the first time she met him. She realized 
she was a different girl in the atmosphere of fashion- 
able life from that in her simple home and Christian 
school. She dreaded the theater party, for she felt 
that she was being swept from her moorings very fast. 
Mr. Stevens was such a perfect gentleman Cherry tried 


42 


Why Not 


to appear interested ; but the lights were out for her. 
The celebrated actress made the audience wild with 
applause ; but the play was revolting to Cherry’s pure 
mind. It was the old story of sin and its penalty, and 
Cherry felt if there were such scenes in real life, how 
terrible it was that people cared to see them repro- 
duced on the stage! It seemed as vitiated a taste as 
for the old Romans to desire the sight of blood and 
human suffering. Lena soon discovered that the 
handsome barytone of the opera was one of the chief 
supporters of the star. 

“Is n’t he splendid !” whispered Lena. Cherry an- 
swered with a glance of scorn as she looked at the 
simpering individual on the stage who was clasping 
his heart, and vowing he would die for his false lady 
love. Cherry turned away her face when the ballet 
dance was going on, and gave the rest of the play 
little attention, heaving a sigh of relief when the cur- 
tain went down. 

She wondered at the storm of applause, and turned 
impatiently to find Mr. Stevens regarding her closely. 

“I ’m glad you do n’t like it,” he said. “I owe you 
young ladies an apology. This woman seldom plays 
any but the best of things, and I did not notice the bill 
for to-night. This is from the French school, and 
all good people ought to denounce it. May I atone 
for my folly by taking you young ladies to hear her 
in King Lear Monday night ? That is a sermon.” 

“No, thank you. I prefer my sermons in some 
other place. I can see now why Churches object to 
their members attending the theater. I shall never 
go again,” answered Cherry. 


Vanity Fair 


43 


“If I had known you were a Church member I 
would not have tempted you,” said the young man, 
gravely. “Miss Hannah is such a devout, sweet 
Christian, in spite of her devotion to the world, I 
have to let her be an exception ; but I believe in con- 
sistency. I would feel more necessity in uniting with 
the Church if I saw more difference between Church 
people and the world.” 

“Do n’t take me for a sample,” said Cherry, in 
great humility. “Come and see my sister Margaret 
if you want to know some one who enjoys life, yet 
lives above the world. Mr. Stevens, I am a Christian, 
though a very weak one, and I promise you I will try 
and be better. I wish you were one, for I am sure 
you would be earnest and true.” 

This young man had heard many a sermon, but 
none that touched his heart as this wish of Cherry’s, 
for the trembling voice showed how sincere she was 
in her desire to do right. 

Cherry saw his softened look, and whispered, “Do 
not let my unfaithfulness keep you away from Christ. 
I shall pray that it may not.” 

The young man went out for the carriage with the 
thought, “There is something in religion after all.” 


CHAPTER V 


Two Important Decisions 

117HILE Mr. Stevens was gone for a moment, 
* * Cherry received another argument against a 
Christian attending the theater. She and Lena were 
waiting where the crowd from the gallery passed by, 
and among the throng of very common-looking peo- 
ple the girls recognized Belle Evans, the daughter 
of a highly-respected widow. Belle had come to the 
city to help her mother support the family. She was 
a few years younger than Cherry, and had been in 
that young lady’s Sunday-school class, and through 
Cherry’s influence had united with the Church. 

“What, you here, Miss Cherry!” exclaimed Belle, 
in surprise. “It is bad enough for a homesick work- 
ing girl ; but if it is right for you, it is for me.” 

The crowd surged on before Cherry could an- 
swer, and she went home with a heartache; for she 
knew she had great influence with Belle, and her pres- 
ence would go far towards making the working girl 
think the theater a good place for her. 

Cousin Hannah soon found that Cherry was un- 
happy over something, and drew her out on the sub- 
ject. “I do n’t blame you, dear, for going heartily into 
all these society pleasures. Of course, they are very 
attractive, or they would not have such a hold upon 
even very good people. But I confess, Cherry, I was 
surprised, knowing your bringing up, that you cared 
44 


Two Important Decisions 


45 


so much for such excitements. How hard it is to live 
in this world, and yet above its allurements! My 
wealth draws worldly people around me, as a light 
draws the moths. No wonder I am constantly untrue 
to the deepest longings of my heart. There is only 
one way, and that is to keep out of the maelstrom. 
As old as I am, these things have too deep a hold on 
me, though I generally enter into society pleasures 
for the happiness of some one else. You have too 
much good sense to lose yourself in mere pleasure ; 
but be careful about Lena. She can not go near the 
precipice without falling. I have done wrong in mak- 
ing these things so attractive to you silly young 
things. I know what they are worth, and am not hurt 
by them.” 

“But, Cousin Hannah, what is the harm in a good, 
pure play, say Rip Van Winkle? It is natural for 
children to act. ‘Come to see/ is nothing less. And 
a hard brain-worker does want a little recreation,” 
said Cherry, now on the defensive. 

“My child, the evil associations with the modern 
theater make it harmful/’ answered the elder lady. 
“There are a great many good entertainments these 
days that can not be questioned, — fine lectures, some 
as humorous as a comedy; all kinds of musical at- 
tractions, and some things that may require a curtain 
and a certain degree of dramatic talent that can not 
be classed with what we see at the theater. The mod- 
ern theater is a very safe thing to shun, my child. 
There are not many good plays on the stage. Look 
at the billboards, with their pictures of blood and vice 
held up to view. One might hear Rip Van Winkle, 
4 


46 


Why Not 


and get no harm ; but even a good play cultivates the 
desire to hear more, and the next thing might happen 
to be as bad as the play of last evening.” 

Cherry had her growing assurance of the evil 
power of the theater confirmed the next day. She 
was waiting at the door of the carriage for Cousin 
Hannah, when she saw a face at once familiar and 
yet unnatural. 

“Then you do n’t know me, Miss Cherry,” the 
young man said, as he paused a moment before her. 

“John Roberts, what ails you? I have not seen 
you for six months, but you look years older. Do 
the folks at home know it is not all right?” exclaimed 
Cherry, looking keenly into the face that showed un- 
mistakable signs of dissipation. 

“Not yet,” he answered, hanging his head. “I 
have n’t had the face to look at my mother lately. 
They think I am working too hard ; but the truth is, 
I lost my place in the bank, and am helping a barber 
until something better turns up. It ’s the old story 
of the country boy falling from grace in town.” 

“O John, how could you when you were such an 
earnest Christian!” and Cherry looked reproachfully 
at her old friend, for she and John had grown up 
together. 

“Cherry, it was the theater,” he answered, bitterly. 
“I went first to only the best plays, but I grew so 
fascinated I wanted to go oftener than when a good 
play came around. And they were beyond my income 
too, so I soon went to the poor ones. It ’s all right 
for good people to talk about there being no harm 
in hearing these great people ; but they forget only 


Two Important Decisions 


47 


people of means can pay the price, so poor people are 
left out of what little benefit there is in a good man or 
woman getting on the stage. I soon lost interest in 
the Church and young people’s work, or in reading a 
book, because it was more exciting to see one acted. 
As I was in a dreary boarding-house, I had to go 
some place of evenings or die of homesickness. The 
cheap theaters have bar-rooms handy. At first I 
bought only a sandwich or stew, for one gets faint at 
midnight after a poor supper. I hardly know how 
I began to drink; but I soon made companions in 
keeping with my surroundings, and I am a ruined 
man.” 

“O John, for my sake leave your bad associates 
and begin over,” pleaded Cherry. 

“Even then I could not be the pure, innocent fel- 
low that came to the city,” he sighed. “There is your 
friend ; good-bye,” and the young man was gone be- 
fore Cherry could say anything more. She prayed ear- 
nestly over this weak young man, and wrote him a 
pleading letter, which he did not answer. Cherry also 
wrote to Belle, telling her of John’s fall, and begging 
her to help him. She also urged Belle to give up the 
theater, since it had dangers of which she had not 
dreamed. Cherry was much humiliated to receive a 
cool note from Belle, in which she said that she would 
take advice about keeping away from worldly pleas- 
ures from those who were able to do it themselves, 
but did not care for suggestions “from those who took 
all of that kind of a thing they could get, and yet posed 
as Christian workers.” 

Cherry was glad to get back to her sheltered home, 


4 8 Why Not 

and the first evening she slipped up to her mother’s 
room for a quiet talk. 

“Tell mother all about it, dearie/’ Mrs. King said, 
stroking the bright head that was laid on her knee 
in the way Cherry had of doing when she wanted 
help. 

“Mamma, I suppose Cousin Hannah invited me 
to keep Lena straight with my cast-iron principles,” 
began Cherry. 

“No doubt she thought you would do the spoiled 
child good,” replied the fond mother. 

“I thought so myself,” replied Cherry, meekly; 
“but, mamma, I could not resist the snares of Vanity 
Fair. I danced, if my hopping around could be called 
that, and I tried to play cards, and it seemed I flirted, 
though I did not mean to.” 

“Well, dear, having tasted of the forbidden pleas- 
ures, are they all you expected?” questioned the 
mother, calmly. 

“No, mamma. Not but what there is a certain 
pleasant excitement about such things ; but they leave 
a bad taste — sort of apples of Sodom.' They all seem 
silly after the diversions we have at college. There 
is not much in throwing down meaningless bits of 
cards, nor in young people in each other’s arms 
pounding the dust out of the carpet, and I would pre- 
fer my imagination giving Shakespeare’s plays real 
existence rather than seeing half-dressed men and 
woman rant before me.” Then Cherry told in a 
shamefaced way of the play she witnessed and Mr. 
Stevens’s remarks. 

“Would you allow that handsome actor to hold 


Two Important Decisions 


49 


you in his arms and kiss you as many times as he did 
the heroine of the play?” asked the mother. 

“Mamma, how can you suggest such a thing of 
me!” cried Cherry, indignantly. 

“Is it so much worse to watch such things approv- 
ingly, and applaud them, than to allow them? It 
seems to me, after pure, young girls have seen those 
things on the stage, they can not see how bad they 
are.” 

“Mamma, I do not believe people who go to the 
theater much can be as pure in heart as those who 
shun such things,” said Cherry, slowly. “I have made 
up my mind I can not be a good Christian and ever 
attend the theater.” 

“I knew your good sense would bring you through 
all right, but I tremble for this experiment on Lena,” 
said Mrs. King. “She is so thoughtless, and her 
mother has different ideas from those that come from 
living for Christ’s sake in every way. It is the same 
thing with cards. Some people do not seem to be 
hurt by them. I knew a lovely Christian girl, who 
thought it best to teach her brother for the sake of 
keeping him home. It seemed a success, for he never 
cared for the game; but I know of another young 
man who was taught to play by a Christian girl, and 
it was the beginning of his ruin. When he died in 
prison a euchre card was found in his pocket, with 
these words written on it : ‘I was taught to play this 
game in a Christian home. It led me to gambling, 
and to ruin and death.’ ” 

“Of course, that is an extreme case, mamma, for 
it is a household game in places where we can’t see 


50 


Why Not 


that harm arises ; but it is the game of the saloon and 
the lowest of the earth, and I shall let it alone,” said 
Cherry. 

“Thank God, darling, for that decision !” said the 
mother, fervently. “All these questionable things are 
not amusements. We can feel sure they are not 'for 
Christ’s sake’ in any way, and for that reason a true 
Christian will let them alone. There is no use of pre- 
tending that there are no sacrifices in a Christian life. 
Some things must be given up that might keep the 
soul from close union with God; but, my daughter, 
it pays. A half-hearted Christian life, as Cousin Han- 
nah lives, is the only one that is not profitable in this 
world.” 

“Cherry, we can’t have charades without you,” 
Robert called from the hall below, and Cherry went 
down, glad that she could join heartily in some diver- 
sion that left no shadow on the life. 

Lena also made a decision that week that influ- 
enced the course of the rest of her life. Cousin Han- 
nah was so impressed with the musical talents of her 
young relatives, that she offered music lessons at the 
conservatory to the girls. 

Cherry had to defer her lessons until vacation; 
but Lena decided to begin at once. The first time 
that Lena went in for her voice culture, she was wan- 
dering through the Arcade, when she saw Monsieur 
De Failles coming arm in arm with the young man 
she had found so charming on the stage. He was cer- 
tainly handsome as a picture even in the ordinary 
dress of the street, and Lena could not help returning 
the glance of admiration he bestowed upon her. 


Two Important Decisions 


5i 


“This is charming, Mademoiselle," cried the 
Frenchman, stopping the young lady. “Allow me to 
introduce my distinguished young friend, Mr. Clar- 
ence Earl, to my favorite pupil, Miss Porter/' Lena 
knew that her proud mother would not approve of 
her walking down Fourth Street between a dancing 
master and an actor; but she was so fascinated with 
the grace of the young stranger she let the two men 
accompany her to the hilltop car. She learned that 
Mr. Earl was connected with the leading theater, and 
had taken part in the opera because of the sudden 
illness of the barytone. 

“I have no doubt that Monsieur's wonderful suc- 
cess in that opera will lead to an engagement with the 
company, and he will soon be one of the noted singers 
of the day," said the Frenchman. 

“Monsieur flatters me," replied the actor. “I hap- 
pened to be familiar with that score; but my lack of 
voice culture will keep me in my present profession, 
though I hope to work to the highest place my art 
affords." 

This modest speech added to Lena's good opinion 
of the young Adonis, and she was easily persuaded to 
be at the next matinee, where the young actor was to 
take a leading role. 

“May I crave just a word after 'the play?" begged 
the young man. “Sit near the door in the balcony, 
and I will have the honor of just a word with you. 
I want your suggestions about some changes I have 
made in the old interpretation of my part. Many of 
the best ladies linger a moment, and their kind words 
encourage us more than I can express." 


52 


Why Not 


“I suppose mamma would not like my waiting to 
speak to an actor/’ Lena thought to herself, as she 
went homeward. “But I can’t see any more harm in 
speaking to Monsieur De Failles on the street than 
at home, nor in talking to Mr. Earl if it is right to 
hear him talk on the stage. He is one of the most 
perfect gentlemen I ever knew, and ought to be helped 
by good people.” 

Thus the silly little moth tried to reason herself 
into flying around the candle, all the time having no 
idea of deceiving her mother or doing anything wrong. 

“Mamma,” she said to her mother, “why has papa 
kept me away from the theater so long? I do n’t see 
the harm in it. Cousin Hannah is perfectly lovely, 
and she goes, and even Cherry, with all her going to 
prayer-meeting and reading the Bible, went. I do n’t 
want to go through life and lose all its pleasures be- 
cause they hurt some silly people.” 

“Your father is not a Church member, Lena ; but 
he has great respect for the Church, because his 
mother was a true Christian. I think if papa had 
not gotten absorbed in politics and making money, he 
would have been a deacon in some Church. He thinks 
young girls are sweeter and purer kept out of society 
until they are old enough to keep from its temptations. 
He has been strict with you ; but even he thinks twenty 
is old enough for a girl to see something of the world. 
You will not be young but once, and you have my 
permission to enjoy yourself all you can.” 

“Then I will meet Clarence Earl, for that is the 
greatest enjoyment I know of,” the young lady de- 
cided in her own mind. As she went to the city twice 


Two Important Decisions 


53 


a week for her music lessons, and her parents con- 
sidered her old enough to take care of herself, she 
anticipated seeing the young actor frequently ; for he 
did not try to conceal that he was madly in love 
with her. 


CHAPTER VI 


A Working Girl's Excuse 

DELLE EVANS shivered in her little hall bed- 
room trying to decide how to spend her evening. 
In this big boarding-house there was not a warm spot 
she could call her own. Bitterly cold nights she took 
her book or sewing to the kitchen range, where the 
colored cook entertained her friends, the hostess en- 
veloped in a cloud of smoke from an old pipe. Some- 
times the four girls in the large front room invited 
Belle in to share their scant grate-fire. Belle made 
her morning cup of coffee and her evening cup of tea 
on a little oil-stove, and took her dinner at a cheap 
restaurant. She had the pallid face of one who lives 
out of a bakery, instead of upon good, substantial 
food; but it took the strictest economy to send the 
eight dollars home each month that kept a roof over 
her mother’s head. She worked on a typewriter in 
a small dirty room in a large manufacturing house. 
All day long she was surrounded with men who were 
smoking, sometimes swearing, and at their best very 
dull companions. Her quiet dignity made the men 
respect the young girl, so she had none of the annoy- 
ances some working girls bear in silence; but it was 
a dull, hard life for a young girl, and she longed for 
some diversion when the long day was ended. Many 
other girls worked hard all day in dingy offices; but 
they went home to a good, hot supper prepared by a 
54 


A Working Girl's Excuse 


55 


mother's careful hand, and then had a warm, pleasant 
room, where they could entertain friends, or enjoy a 
book or perhaps a piano. That evening Belle longed 
for comradeship even more than for fire, and thought 
she could sympathize with the little girl who wanted 
to be allowed to go down to the bad place and play 
awhile if she got tired of going to meeting in heaven. 
The young woman is fortunate indeed who has her 
social nature so well provided for that she feels no 
temptation to induge in pleasures that leave a sting. 
She can not know how a starved nature, imprisoned 
by poverty and unceasing toil, weighs the most sacred 
possessions too lightly when pleasure can be obtained 
only by the sinking of character in the scale of being. 
Belle was thinking of this in her desperate mood when 
Sidney Carter came in with her rough, good-natured 
greeting. 

“Belle, we 're going to a place where it 's nice and 
warm, and there 's music, and you can look on for 
nothing. Do n't shiver here over your smoky lamp. 
Come and laugh with the children of the world. You 
came to town with a face like a full-blown rose; but 
you are getting to look so white and solemn you 
scare me." 

“You are going to a dance at the hall," said Belle, 
gloomily. 

“That ’s the size of it," answered the girl they 
called Polly. “What better have you to offer? Your 
stone church up the street is dark and cold as the 
grave. The dance-hall is opened for cold, lonely girls ; 
that 's the difference. The world tries to attract every- 
body, and the Church do n't." 


56 


Why Not 


“If I were a preacher I ’d have a parlor opened 
some place each night, warm and bright, with books 
and papers,” said Sidney. “I ’d have a piano, and 
games, and a stove where young folks could make a cup 
of tea, or pop corn, or roast apples, or make candy.” 

“Hush, Sid, I did not have much for supper,” said 
Polly. 

“You make me homesick,” sighed Mamie, a little 
shop-girl who ought to have been in the country with 
her mother. 

“You ask us to go to prayer-meeting Wednesday 
nights, like the good Christian you are. We ’d go 
if you could take us the next night to something that 
would chirk us up,” said Polly. 

“I know that,” sighed Belle; “but churches are 
built for our souls, not our bodies. My perishing 
body is more in evidence to-night than my immortal 
soul; so if you are sure I can get warm through and 
through, I ’ll go any place with you.” 

The five girls put on their best, the shop-girls 
making up with bright ribbons for their lack of party 
finery, and they trooped off to the dance-hall. Not 
one of them cared for that kind of a place if anything 
better had offered ; but they all longed for *a bit of 
pleasure that would make them forget for an hour 
their dull, hard lives. They passed happy homes 
where delicate lace curtains did not conceal young 
girls who were having merry times in their own par- 
lors — sometimes eating fruit and confectionery with 
other young friends, sometimes gathered around a 
piano or shaded light, with books and papers, in front 
of ruddy grates. 


A Working Girl's Excuse 


57 


“Thank goodness, some folks forget to pull down 
their shades !" Sidney said, as they paused a moment 
before windows through which they saw a brilliant 
social gathering. “I play I 'm that other girl. I al- 
ways go home this way, and see myself coming home 
in a fine carriage, in silks, velvets, and furs. Then I 
imagine what I have for supper while I eat my bread 
and milk. I am having a party to-night. This lonely 
chicken, who has n't a relative nearer than a step- 
aunt, is not really I.” 

The girls laughed, and Belle said, “I wish I had 
your imagination;" while Polly remarked: “I was 
brought up in an orphan asylum, and have always 
been outside of good things. Sometimes I stand out- 
side of the house I want for mine, and wonder if I 'll 
sometime stand outside of the door of heaven, and 
just be allowed to peep in and not be good enough 
to enter, and see mother, and have good times with 
the rest." 

“O nonsense, Pol !" said Sidney, who checked 
every gloomy thought, “just live for to-day; working 
girls won't be asked many questions at the gate." 

“Girls, we can't live for the day," spoke up Belle. 
“We have souls, and if we are in a hard place to keep 
them clean, God will not let us in heaven on any easier 
terms than the rest. That is why I 've been so careful 
since I 've been in the city. I am afraid of being lost 
forever." 

The other girls shivered at the earnest tone of their 
friend ; but Sidney rallied her spirits to answer : “Non- 
sense, Belle! We never go into saloons, or walk the 
streets with strange men. We would starve before we 




Why Not 


would get money as some of the girls do, to have a 
little comfort. We ’ve all had good mothers, even if 
I do n’t remember mine. Come, have a good time 
to-night, and we ’ll go with you to your next young 
people’s meeting.” 

By this time they were at the steps leading to the 
hall. The free night brought in crowds of young 
people; not all the kind good people shun, by any 
means. Many a homesick country boy and pure 
young servant girl had drifted to the hall for want of 
a better place to go. Our girls did not care to dance 
with the motley crowd, so they hunted a corner near 
the musicians, where they could listen and watch the 
crowded dancing floor below. 

“Come dance with me, miss/’ said a young officer 
to Sidney, soon after they thought they were unob- 
served. With her bright color and flashing black eyes 
she was the one who would first attract attention. 

“It ’s only for to-night, and I ’m going,” said Sid- 
ney, tempted by the music, and the horror she read in 
Belle’s face; for Sidney was full of mischief, and liked 
to scandalize sober people. In spite of Belle’s en- 
treaties the other girls were soon on the floor, carried 
away with the delight of dancing. 

“You here, Charles?” Belle heard some one say at 
her elbow, and she saw a distinguished-looking, 
middle-aged man addressing a young man whose 
dress and bearing showed the “upper crust” of society. 

“Yes,” drawled the young man, “it’s refreshing, 
do n’t you know, to meet the people once in a while. 
Mighty sweet, pretty girls some of them, if they do 
work in the kitchen. A fellow do n’t have to be quite 


A Working Girl's Excuse 


59 


so proper as with the ladies of our set, do n’t you 
know. You are here for social-logical study for your 
new novel. Going to win some pretty country girl’s 
heart, and then break it, and desert her. You can 
throw off that kind of an attachment when you like, 
without the expense of matrimony, and make women 
cry over the way you write up the pure, injured, fallen 
angel.” 

The elder man laughed, and the two moved off 
towards some frightened-looking girls, who had 
evaded all offers of partners, and left Belle fuming 
with indignation. 

“I ’ll get out of this and keep the girls away from 
this wicked place if I do nothing else,” she decided 
as she pressed through the crowd. She found Polly, 
and begged her to go home. 

“Nonsense, Belle, it ’s hardly nine o’clock. We 
will never see these men again. I do n’t suppose there 
is any more of a mixed crowd than where they pay 
five dollars apiece to get in. I ’ll promise to head the 
girls toward home at ten. Mamie and Fannie are too 
young for this, and came from Christian homes. Wait ; 
do n’t go to your cold room !” 

“Anything but this,” groaned Belle, rushing 
towards the door and fairly into the arms of a young 
man coming her way. 

“Belle Evans, what are you doing in such a crowd 
as this?” demanded John Roberts, sternly. 

“Doing as you are doing, trying to lose my im- 
mortal soul,” answered Belle, sharply. “Take me 
home quick, John. We are both of us Church mem- 
bers.” 


60 Why Not 

“But many Church members dance,” said John, 
bitterly. 

“Yes, but they have better places and better mo- 
tives,” answered Belle. 

“Better places because they can. These girls 
would prefer nice parlors with watchful mothers near. 
The motive is the same — a good, jolly time at any 
cost to others. This hall is n't the worst in the city 
by any means. There is no saloon here, and it is 
thought to be a very respectable place. The rooms 
are often rented for parties by pretty good people. 
But I 've heard of dreadful things happening when 
silly girls went off with strange young men for supper 
or beer. Belle, I 'd rather see a sister of mine in a 
burning building than in this dance j hall; and such a 
pure, noble girl as you here !” 

“If it is right for you, it is for me,” said Belle, 
stoutly. “God has no higher standard of living for 
me than he has for you; but, John, let us help each 
other to be true. I 'll never go in a theater or dance- 
hall again if you won't. Promise for your mother's 
sake, for Christ's sake, John.” 

“I promise, Belle,” the young man said, slowly. “I 
have been wanting to get back to the narrow way, the 
only way of safety for me. I am so intense that I 
can't work the world and religion at the same time. 
It has to be all or nothing. Cherry King wrote me a 
beautiful letter ; but it did me no good, for I saw that 
she went as far as she wanted to, because she knew 
it was safe for her.” 

By this time the young man and woman were on 
the street taking deep breaths of the pure frosty air. 


A Working Girl's Excuse 61 

so refreshing after the foul atmosphere they had left. 
As they turned the corner the sweet strains of “Come 
to Jesus” floated to their ears. The Salvation Army 
was holding a meeting in an old store-room near. 
Without words on the subject, John Roberts and Belle 
Evans went in. After the singing the captain spoke 
a few rambling words; but the last remark struck 
home to at least two of his hearers. “If you have 
wandered off, come back for Jesus’ sake. You will 
find it hard to live a pure, true life in this wicked city ; 
but you can do it for Jesus’ sake. Come back to- 
night.” 

When those were asked to come forward who 
felt the need of prayers, John Roberts was the first to 
kneel at the rough bench. It was the old mystery, 
always a new miracle — he went forward with a 
troubled face and heavy, guilty heart, and he returned 
with a new light on his face, the light never seen on 
earth or sky, a new peace in his heart, and strength 
to fight and be victorious, “for Christ’s sake.” 

“If I ever get to be a rich man, I shall have safe 
places of amusement for poor young people,” John 
said. 

“Yes; but we need a lesson from the Salvation 
Army people. If we can’t have the good times of 
life, we can be happy without them for Christ’s sake. 
I ought to have shown the other girls that a Christian 
girl could be happy in a cold room for Christ’s sake.” 

“Better think of some way that will make them 
happy until you can win them into such a high spir- 
itual state ; for, to tell the truth, few people are satisfied 
with nothing of this world’s goods,” answered John. 

5 


62 


Why Not 


They were young and full of life, and the subject 
of recreation meant much to them, even in the solemn 
hour of a new consecration to God. An old doctor, 
shuffling home, wondered why any one would venture 
out in the keen air who could stay indoors. He had 
been out all day, and felt no need of exercise or fresh 
air, and was vexed that a social engagement took him 
from his own fireside. A minister, hurrying home 
from a deathbed, wondered how young people could 
laugh in a world where death was lurking for victims 
every hour. But John and Belle looked up to the 
watching stars, and felt thankful for youth and glad- 
ness, and determined to make the world as bright as 
possible, remembering one thing, even their amuse- 
ments must be “for Christ’s sake.” 

The next day Belle ate bread and milk for dinner, 
and saved fifteen cents of the usual quarter. That 
evening she invited her friends to a peanut party in 
her room. The little oil-stove and smoky lamp did 
their best to keep up the spirits of the thermometer, 
and the girls sat on the narrow bed and on trunks 
and had a merry time. Mrs. Wake had heard the 
merriment, and her narrow soul expanded so much 
she sent a pot of steaming tea and a plate of cookies 
up to the girls. It was easy to get them all to 
the young people’s meeting the next evening, and 
then Belle persuaded the girls to read “Ben Hur” 
aloud with her. So the evenings began to be some- 
thing to live for. It ended in Mrs. Wake offering 
her stuffy little parlor two evenings a week to her 
lodgers. 

“Now I can invite in some of my friends,” said 


A Working Girl's Excuse 


63 


Sidney. “I do n't know how it would seem not to 
have to walk the streets with a young man if he should 
happen to call. You can invite in that fine-looking 
Rockville friend of yours, Belle." 

“Yes,” said Belle, “we 'll make our two evenings 
all that we can for those in this house and our friends 
who have no home. I 've earned fifty cents from extra 
work this week, and I 'm going to treat the crowd to 
coffee and crullers our next evening. I have an old 
colored friend who won't charge for more than the 
material, and who makes perfect crullers.” 

The next day Belle went to Aunt Dinah's quarters. 
She occupied a little house among the old tenements 
overhanging the river. “I crossed on de ice when 
I was a gal, an' marsa an' de dogs after me, an' I like 
the river in sight,” she would say when her friends 
urged better surroundings. Aunt Dinah had been 
hidden by the friend of the slave, Levi Coffin, and had 
been slipped out to Rockville when it was still the 
country, and the King home a farmhouse. For twelve 
years Dinah was cook and nurse and almost mother 
to the growing family. After Mrs. King married and 
lived in the old home, Dinah was still her servant and 
friend. While Cherry was a baby Dinah met an old 
lover who had been sold away from her. He had mar- 
ried and been left a widower with two children. Dinah 
was easily persuaded to leave Rockville, and take up 
the support of a lazy husband and his children. Aunt 
Dinah did fine laundry work and cooked for company, 
so by her husband's doing whitewashing in its season 
the family lived in comfort. Aunt Dinah’s rooms were 
bright and clean. The whitewash was always fresh, 


6 4 


Why Not 


to advertise her husband's profession, though gener- 
ally put on by the thrifty wife. Aunt Dinah had two 
dark images of herself, who came late, but compen- 
sated for all the troubles of her former existence. 

“Come right in, Miss Belle. Any one from home 's 
mighty welcome. I 'll have some coffee in a minute, 
ca'se I 've a fresh mince-pie in de cupboard. Peter's 
stomac ain't strong, an' I have to tempt him up a 
little. He 's done gone to sleep, an' the younguns 
too, an' when I 've got ’em all off my hands I jest 
make the work fly. Liz 's got a good place, and 
Jake 's off to work. I ain't gwine to have any lazy 
niggers hangin’ round for their pa to keep." 

Belle laughed at Aunt Dinah's loyalty to her do- 
less husband, and sat down by the shining stove quite 
ready for the good woman’s bounty. 

“Aunt Dinah, I want a batch of your best crullers 
for some missionary work," and Belle poured the 
whole story into the elderly woman’s ears. “I wish 
though, our Church did not forbid worldly amuse- 
ments," said Belle, in closing. “I think it is more 
tempting for that reason." 

“Fac'; but lauzy massy, you take notice there ain't 
no difference in opinion in de folks that try to walk 
like de Lord. Dey all find dat some things are not 
calc'lated to give a 'sperience. When we was brengin' 
up Pete's gal he said he was n't Methodist, but Bap- 
tist, an’ Lize could dance if she 'd go under de water 
fust. Says I, ‘Pete, if dancin' is good fur Baptists, 
and Prespyterians, an’ sich, it 's good fur Methodists, 
an' if they 'd better not, the rest 'd better not.' It 
is n't what meetin’-house you belongs to, but what 


A Working GirUs Excuse 


65 


makes de best kind of a Christian. ‘Dancin’ Chris- 
tians a’in’t the best samples/ sez he ; ‘it ’s as different 
as calsomined and whitewashed walls. The wall 
soon shows in spots through the whitewash.’ ‘Then 
our children shan’t dance/ sez I. As I told Jake one 
might fool round a live wire an’ not git struck; but 
the safest way was to keep clean away from it. Law’s 
sake, honey, life ain’t fur fun. It ’s to stan’ the storm 
an’ anchor safe by an’ by. You can’t dance into the 
harbor. I ’m goin’ the sure way, me an’ mine.” 

“So am I, Aunt Dinah; but I’m going to enjoy 
what I can, and your coffee is splendid. Did n’t you 
care for fun when you were young?” said Belle. 

“I was a little fool, an’ used to slip out of the big 
house to dance with the trash in the quarters to the 

banjo in the moonlight; but then Pete was there an’ 

a likely fellow,” replied the colored woman, with a 
broad grin. “But when he was sold South an’ my 

good missus died, an’ I had reason to mistrust the 

young marsa an’ had to run away, I found dancin’ an’ 
fun was n’t like de grace of God to pull me through.” 

The young woman left the old one, comforted and 
strengthened in her purpose, and, with Dinah’s aid in 
cooking, the little party was a great success. 

“But this was only a drop of happiness in an ocean 
of loneliness,” said Belle, 'as she let John Roberts out 
of the street door. “Think of the lonely young people 
who went to wrong places for comfort this evening.” 

“One beacon-light is better than total darkness,” 
replied the practical young man. “We will hope that 
others will help us in finding safe amusement for hard- 
working young people.” 


CHAPTER YE 


The Sheltered Girl’s Way of Amusement 

“T AM sorry this reception comes when our pastor 
* is making such a special effort; but for friend- 
ship’s sake I think I ought to go and take the girls, 
though James says he will go to the church instead,” 
Mrs. Harland said to her sister one February day 
when the two were talking over plans for their daugh- 
ters. “A special train will bring down the governor 
and Legislature, and there will be some distinguished 
people from Washington. The decorations alone will 
cost a thousand dollars, and our girls will seldom see 
anything of this kind. Kate Porter will consider it a 
personal slight if we do not help her in this, her great- 
est social effort, Lena’s debut into society.” 

“It is hard to refuse her on account of our rela- 
tionship ; but I am glad my children see it as I do. 
Robert is too young for such a gathering, and the 
girls do not dance, so do not care to go. Not but 
what they might be in the parlors and leave out the 
ballroom ; but the spirit of the whole thing is contrary 
to our teaching on the subject of amusements. You 
know there will be all kinds of people there among 
the judge’s political friends. Then it comes in a time 
when our Church is making a special effort to win 
souls, and I fear the young people who stay away for 
that ball will not be again interested in the religious 
services.” 


66 


The Sheltered Girl's Way of Amusement 67 

“Perhaps not,” admitted Mrs. Harland, with a 
sigh ; “but my girls have been right along helping with 
the singing. I have been glad to see a return of the 
earnestness with which they started. After this one 
party I am going to see that they give up everything 
for these meetings. I have promised they shall go, 
and I am dreadfully worried because they have coaxed 
for light silks like Lena and Cherry got from Cousin 
Hannah, and against their father's wishes insisted on 
their being made with short sleeves and low necks. 
They want to look as the other society girls do.” 

“O Jennie, you do not call your girls society girls 
yet?” cried her sister, in alarm. “Let us help our 
girls to find pleasure outside of society circles. I am 
going to give my young people a candy-pull the first 
evening after the meeting closes. I shall not let them 
settle down like old ladies because they do not dance ; 
but give them a good time for being so lovely about 
giving up seeing this brilliant affair. Cherry is to 
bring home one of her friends who is a fine humorous 
reader, and they will all have a good time, and get 
home at a reasonable hour, and not take cold with 
decollete dresses. You will have to give up your 
winter cloak, dear, if you get those party dresses. Do 
stay at home with the girls, or go to the church with 
them.” 

“You are too Puritanical, Maggie,” answered Mrs. 
Harland. “My girls will get to the stern realities of 
life soon enough if they see something of the world 
now. I have known some of the giddiest of society 
girls to make domestic wives and devoted mothers, 
and become deeply interested in Church work.” 


68 


Why Not 


“And you have known more society girls who 
made miserable wives and very poor mothers, and 
found no comfort in religion after they were tired of 
society,” interrupted Mrs. King. 

“Perhaps so,” admitted Mrs. Harland. “But my 
black satin is being made over, and Cousin Hannah 
is to lend me her diamonds and real lace, so I must 
go as I promised. I will watch my girls, and I am 
sure they will not be hurt by one fashionable party.” 

Mrs. King saw it was of no use to say anything 
more. Her sister was much flattered at being asked 
to help receive at this function, and thought it would 
be an advantage for her daughters to meet so many 
prominent people. She wanted wealth and position 
for her daughters ; but she did not want them to be 
simply society women. 

Money was not plentiful in the Harland home. It 
took so much of the income to keep up the fine old 
place, that there was always an effort when money 
was needed for any special purpose. It was such a 
common practice to make bills that waited long for 
payment, that the girls could see no reason why money 
was necessary for this occasion. 

“Papa always manages to mortgage something, 
or make good sales and settle up some way, and if 
the worst comes to the worst Cousin Hannah helps a 
little,” Edith said. 

“We always have lived in this borrowing and pay- 
ing-back fashion, and I do n’t see why the line should 
be drawn on our first opportunity to enter the best 
society,” grumbled Maud. 

So the girls got handsome light silks, and had 


The Sheltered Girl's Way of Amusement 69 

them made with trains and decollete waists, and their 
father sighed over the heavy bill that could not be met 
for some time, and which would be often pressed upon 
his notice. The mother felt anxious when the winter 
flannel had to be discarded and heavy shoes changed 
for dancing slippers, for it was a very cold winter. 

“Why, mamma, we have only a short carriage ride, 
when we will be well bundled up, and then the tem- 
perature will be like summer/’ said Edith. 

“All these things are part of fashionable life,” 
laughed Maud. “Hundreds of girls change their 
clothing for evening dresses. You must admit that 
we look well in party style.” 

Mrs. Harland could not deny that, as she looked 
at her fair daughters, with fresh faces still unspoiled 
by late hours. Their plump, round arms and shapely 
necks were certainly beautiful ; yet the mother sighed 
for fear it was not the best thing for her darlings. 
Even Mr. Harland’s grave face relaxed when he saw 
his daughters in their shimmering silks, with their 
faces flushed and eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“You look like two rosebuds, if one could be pale 
blue and the other shell pink,” he said, trying to enter 
into their happiness, but sad at heart over what he 
termed “the folly of it all.” He went alone to the 
church with anxious thoughts. This party seemed 
to him a sweeping away of the hopes he had been 
building for his daughters. He saw before him society 
belles where he had expected consecrated, earnest 
young women. 

The reception seemed a fairy-land to these girls. 
They stood with Lena, and were introduced to all the 


7o 


Why Not 


distinguished people. Lena was in creamy white, and 
the three Graces, as they were called, were the attrac- 
tion of the evening. There were enough “available” 
young men to pay court to their beauty, and make the 
other young ladies wonder what was so attractive in 
those village girls. They were all somewhat musical, 
and Maud’s playing and Lena’s singing pleased many 
of the guests below, while these young ladies were 
considered the most graceful dancers in the ballroom 
above, thanks to Monsieur’s teaching. There was one 
young man the judge tried to throw in his daughter’s 
way, but who insisted in paying marked attention to 
Maud. His face was hard and cold, showing signs of 
an irregular life ; but he had a fascinating way of talk- 
ing, which captivated Maud. She had never had such 
delicate flattery poured into her ears, not bold, vulgar 
praise; but when she was told that her touch on the 
piano was that of a zephyr kissing an aeolian harp, 
her cheeks rivaling the blush rose and her step the 
tread of a fairy, Maud became so infatuated with her- 
self, that when she saw her radiant image in the long 
mirror she felt like throwing a kiss at it. This peculiar 
charm soon extended to her companion, and he 
seemed a prince rather than an ordinary man. 

“You are fortunate to catch the prize of the even- 
ing, little girl,” the judge whispered, when he hap- 
pened to find Maud alone for a moment. “He ’s the 
richest young man in the city, and of one of the oldest 
families. Remember me when you come into your 
kingdom.” 

Judge Porter was very fond of the Harland girls, 
and felt he was doing a great thing for Maud in mak- 


The Sheltered Girl's Way of Amusement 71 

in g it possible for her to charm this young millionaire. 
He had hoped that Lena would attract this young 
man ; but something was amiss with the spoiled 
beauty; for though she had admirers enough, she 
treated each one with cold indifference. Her father 
frowned more than once when he saw how little she 
was entering into the pleasures of the evening. He 
would have stormed with rage if he had known her 
thoughts were with the star actor of a play in the city. 
That day she had received a note from the young 
actor, telling her he had been promoted in his pro- 
fession, and that he hoped she would soon see that he 
could take care of the one he loved more than life 
itself. Edith won no special admirer ; but was a favor- 
ite with her pretty ways and graceful dancing. She 
danced for over two hours without stopping, and as 
she was not accustomed to the exertion she became 
heated and tired. “It is a perfect furnace here,” she 
said at last, after a prolonged waltz. 

“Let us go to the library,” suggested her com- 
panion. “It is cool and quiet there, and we can have 
an opportunity to talk. I confess, I enjoy using my 
tongue more than my heels. ,, 

Edith smiled wearily and sank into the nearest 
chair, not noticing the open window near. 

“I am going to bring you some ice and wine,” 
Mr. White said, alarmed at the pallor that spread over 
her face. 

“Coffee, please,” she managed to gasp ; but he 
brought a tiny glass of wine, and forced her to drink 
it before he let her take the cream, which soon cooled 
and refreshed her. 


72 


Why Not 


“After all, the question of health is the most serious 
one in considering the right and wrong of such things 
in social life,” the gentleman said. “Such violent ex- 
ercise is unnatural, and it is almost impossible to cool 
off gradually. I fear you are chilled by that ice ; but 
the wine may have saved you.” 

“It has made my head ache, for I never touch it,” 
said Edith. 

“It is hurtful to eat so late and steal the best hours 
from sleep. Take the advice of a man almost old 
enough to be your father, and do not waste your fresh 
bloom in many scenes like this.” 

“I will not, Mr. White. You are the only gentle- 
man who has honored me with a sensible word to- 
night, and though dancing is very fascinating to me, 
I am always worn out the next day, and unhappy be- 
cause I said I would renounce such things when I 
joined the Church.” 

“You ought to be true to your religious vows,” 
he said, gravely; and Edith thought if a man of the 
world felt that way, she certainly ought to feel the 
same. She was heartily glad to get home, and, after 
throwing her finery on a chair, creep into bed, com- 
pletely exhausted. Maud was too excited to sleep; 
for she was building all kinds of air-castles, roaming 
over Europe as the bride of a many times millionaire. 
Mrs. Harland could not sleep; but she had more on 
her mind than her daughters. She enjoyed their 
marked success, and felt justified in the expense of 
their costumes, when her pride was suddenly laid 
low. Harold had invited Charlie, and he had been 
allowed to come on the condition that he would look 


The Sheltered Girl’s Way of Amusement 73 


around, get some supper, and then return to his 
studies. Just as Mrs. Harland was starting to her 
carriage one of the servants appeared and whispered, 
“Had not your son better stay all night, ma’am?” 

“Charlie here at this hour? He was to go home 
before ten. Is he sick?” 

“He ’ll be all right in the morning,” answered the 
footman, grinning and nodding towards a small break- 
fast room Mrs. Harland had not entered. She hurried 
in, and found the room sickening with the fumes of 
tobacco and whisky. Light wine had been served in 
the dining-room to those who wanted it, which was 
nothing surprising, as it always stood on the judge’s 
sideboard. This room was reserved for his friends 
who wished to have something stronger. Empty wine 
and whisky bottles showed that this extemporized bar 
had been well patronized. Harold lay on the floor 
in a drunken stupor, while Charlie leaned over a 
cuspidore, white and sick. 

“Charlie, how could you break the promise you 
made your father, that you would not touch liquor or 
tobacco if he would get you a wheel?” Mrs. Harland 
asked, reproachfully. 

“They called me a baby,” whimpered the boy. 

“Take him to the carriage, Peter. I wish your 
master could see the w r ork of his little saloon.” 

But he did not, for the servants got Harold up- 
stairs as soon as possible, that they might not be 
blamed for the condition of the young master. The 
judge had not fitted up this room for his own son, 
and the waiters knew it, but did not want to get the 
young man’s ill-will by putting him and his friend 


74 


Why Not 


out. Charlie was too sick to know or care how he 
got home, or that his father was very angry when he 
was called to put a drunken son to bed. Mrs. Har- 
land went to her room to wet her pillow with bitter 
tears ; but she soon forgot her mortification, for Maud 
came in, saying: “Mamma, do come to Edith. She 
is in a hard chill, and do n’t seem like herself.” 

Mrs. Harland found Edith severely ill with a sud- 
den cold, and during the days that followed, while 
she watched in great anxiety by the bedside of her 
favorite daughter, she wished she had insisted on a 
different kind of a dress, or a party such as her sister 
had for her young people, where every one had a 
merry time with no unpleasant results. 


CHAPTER VIE 


Saint Katherine 

“ T SUPPOSE I ought to be glad to sacrifice my 
* feelings a little,” said Cherry, with a sober face. 
“I have had such a splendid time this winter, getting 
the class honors, but not losing the good times, sleigh- 
rides in the mud, skating on thin ice, class parties, and 
all that.” 

“And dances and theaters/’ reminded Margaret, 
slyly. 

“I ’m only counting my blessings ; and there are 
so many, I can afford to help entertain Saint Katherine 
as my vacation work,” answered Cherry. 

“If she only would be entertained,” sighed Mar- 
garet ; “but she will bury herself in Thomas a Kempis 
or Madame Guyon, and make the rest of us feel 
wicked for not joining her constant devotions.” 

“She is a good girl, simply awful good,” laughed 
Cherry, who was never long disturbed over anything. 
“She is n’t good for anything but being good.” 

“I hope my daughters will imbibe some of Kath- 
erine’s sweet spirit,” remarked the mother. 

“But, mamma,” spoke up Cherry, who liked to 
justify herself even at the expense of others, “is n’t 
she too religious for any earthly use?” 

“No, indeed ; she simply has not learned how to 
turn her spiritual life into every-day working channels, 
and I think it is because her father and mother are 
75 


76 


Why Not 


morbid about the enjoyments of life. I hope she will 
learn here that there are many recreations not sinful. 
But she can help us as much as we can help her. ,, 

“That was nice, putting it us” said Margaret. 
“We know you have your quiet hour each day, when 
you read your Bible and think with devout souls of 
the other life.” 

“I would lose much of the joy out of this if I did 
not. The joy of the Lord is my strength, when other 
joys fail,” answered the mother, with a bright smile. 
“Perhaps we might unite in making Katherine have 
a good time for His sake, and try and get more of her 
tranquil spirit. I ’ll entertain the Church young peo- 
ple one evening, and Margaret can have the Whittier 
Club.” 

“And Lena entertains the Cooking Club. O, we 
will be gay ; and I need it, for my head is almost burst- 
ing with the information I put in it this term,” said 
Cherry. 

“There is no external evidence,” remarked Mar- 
garet, as she put on her things to go to the train for 
their cousin, and the girls gave Katherine a cordial 
welcome. 

“You look pale and thin; but we’ll soon get you 
plump and rosy,” said Mrs. King. 

“I ’ve been nursing a sick friend,” replied Kath- 
erine. 

“That was a good work, and now getting rested 
and rosy again will be another,” said Mr. King, 
heartily. 

“We are going to have a social gathering here 
this evening,” Margaret said the next morning. “We 


Saint Katherine 


77 


have one a month in the church parlors; but we in- 
vited it here so you could meet the young people, and 
we could have a little more diversion than at the 
church. Edith is not well; but Maud will help enter- 
tain.” 

Katherine looked troubled. “I seldom go to a 
social gathering/’ she answered. “It does not seem 
just the place to meet the Master if he should come 
suddenly.” 

“But, Katherine, Jesus went to the wedding and 
to the feasts of that day,” suggested Margaret. 

“Yes; but he no doubt went for the purpose of 
doing good,” replied Katherine. 

“That is just the difference between the enjoyment 
of a Christian and one who is not,” replied Margaret. 
“The party is gotten up by mother to do good 'for 
His sake/ as much as if it were a prayer-meeting. To 
give them a safe, pleasant evening, with as much fun 
as possible, will do them good. Katherine, I never 
go to any social gathering without praying that I 
may have an opportunity to do something for Jesus. 
It is wonderful what chances I have had to help others 
when meeting them at something like this.” This was 
a new thought to Katherine, and as she looked at her 
cousin’s glowing face she had a faint idea that prayer- 
meeting was not the only place where one might get 
spiritual help. 

Katherine could not help enjoying the bright 
young people who filled the old house that evening. 
The old-fashioned long parlor, the wide hall, and sit- 
ting-room were soon filled with merry youths and 
maidens. As each guest entered the hall, he or she 
6 


78 


Why Not 


was presented with an irregular card, containing five 
subjects of conversation. The cards had to be 
matched, and the couple were to go to the dining-room 
together later. At a certain time a bell was sounded, 
and five minutes given for discussing the first topic. 
At the ringing of the bell another partner had to be 
secured for the second subject, and so on, until “The 
Woman Question,” “College Life,” “New Books,” or 
whatever the card contained, had been discussed by 
two young people. This made it possible for the most 
bashful to find some subject of conversation, and the 
change of partners kept especially interested couples 
from being too exclusive. On the hall table Cherry 
had a photograph gallery of baby pictures. If any 
young man could guess what young lady was repre- 
sented by one of those infantile faces he could have 
the privilege of seeing that young lady home. In the 
sitting-room was a collection of authors and other 
famous men and women. The one who could write 
down the most names correctly had a prize of Riley's 
poems, and the one who made the most mistakes a 
copy of “Mother Goose.” The girls had been saving 
from book reviews and illustrated papers for some 
time for this occasion. The pictures were neatly 
mounted on cardboard, and could be used a number 
of times. There was profit as well as pleasure in this 
game, as most people do not like to be ignorant of 
the world's celebrities. 

Katherine was coaxed into taking part, and won 
the prize, showing that, after all, she had kept up with 
the affairs of the world. She accepted the book very 
reluctantly for fear a prize was a wrong thing, and 


Saint Katherine 


79 


it might be hurtful to read other than religious poems. 
In the dining-room there was such prolonged laughter 
Katherine slipped out to see what could be the mat- 
ter, and found the picture of a donkey pinned to the 
door. Some one blindfolded was trying to pin a tail 
in the right place, and this time the appendix hung 
upon one of the long ears. Here and there a little 
group would pause in the merriment of the hour, and 
enter into earnest conversation. In one corner “the 
lookout committee” was planning how to get a 
stranger to prayer-meeting. Belle Evans was home 
on a visit, and Katherine heard Cherry say, “Bless 
you, dear, for finding a way to amuse homesick girls. 
I 've prayed for you every day since you wrote me 
about it.” 

“Girls who write all day, or stand in a store or 
over a hot kitchen stove, have to have something of 
rest and change in the evening, or they break down,” 
answered Belle. 

It occurred to Katherine, perhaps if she had to 
earn her living she might feel the need of more gayety 
than she now cared for. Refreshments were served 
at nine o'clock. There was no room for tables, so 
each took a plate and paper napkin, and got a seat 
where it happened to be found. Several young men 
volunteered to help the hostesses, and sandwiches, 
coffee, lemonade, and cake soon disappeared. In all 
the sport there w T as the refinement that shows good 
breeding, and at the last some one started a gospel 
song, in which each joined heartily. Then Mr. Ben- 
nett, the president of the society, made a short prayer. 
After the solemn hush, the sound of happy voices and 


So 


Why Not 


merry laughing seemed discord to devout Katherine ; 
but the others felt that the moment of lifting their 
souls heavenward had not lessened their appreciation 
of earth, and laughter and snatches of song floated 
back as the crowd wended its way down the long 
avenue. 

“Just half-past ten; that is not bad, mamma/’ said 
Margaret. “Was n’t it nice, Katherine?” 

“Yes, indeed,” admitted Katherine. “Only we 
should not make pleasant things the object of our 
life.” 

“I can’t agree with you there,” said Cherry, in a 
vexed tone. “ ‘A merry heart doeth good like medi- 
cine.’ One can find it pleasant doing good.” 

“The expense of all this was a number of dollars. 
That would have sent a number of Bibles to the 
heathen,” said Katherine. 

Both girls felt provoked that their efforts to enter- 
tain their cousin should be received in this way; but 
the mother came in with, “That is true, dear, and it is 
one way to help the Master’s cause ; but this is another. 
And now, my girls, you are tired ; go to bed. Mother 
is delighted with the way you made every one have 
a good time,” and with their mother’s kiss the King 
girls forgot their momentary vexation. 

The next afternoon the Harland young ladies gave 
a thimble party in honor of their cousin. 

“What is a thimble party?” asked Katherine. “No 
cards, I hope.” Cherry’s eyes twinkled with mischief 
as she answered : “You may depend on it, Edith will 
have cards on the table at each plate. Some of her 
own dainty etching with our names for favors.” 


Saint Katherine 


81 


Katherine looked relieved. “I suppose thimbles 
means sewing. Will it be for some poor family ?” 

“Mine is, for I ’m hemstitching some handker- 
chiefs for mamma out of an old linen garment Cousin 
Hannah has thrown away,” answered Cherry. “The 
girls bring fancy work, though Hannah Jones often 
brings a bag of stockings, and lets us help her for 
fun. She keeps house for her uncle, and has a brood 
of motherless children to care for ; but she gets pleas- 
ure out of it, I assure you. Her creed is sunshine , she 
says, and she has been that since she entered that big 
gloomy house.” 

“Is she active in the Lord’s work?” questioned 
Katherine. 

“No one more so, for the baby keeps her at it 
from early morning until late at night, to say nothing 
of the care of five other children, with only one 
domestic to do the rough work of such a family. You 
see, her uncle is our doctor, and has no time to see 
to anything. So she hardly as much as gets to Church 
unless Bridget is in the humor to keep the baby. 
But she will be at this party, for she said she must 
have a little fun with us girls to renew her strength.” 

“There is another way of renewing one’s strength,” 
suggested Katherine. 

“Yes; but waiting on the Lord is not the only 
way. Even Jesus went off alone to rest, and Hannah 
would die if she did not leave those children occa- 
sionally. Perhaps Jesus visited the home of Martha 
and Mary to be cheered up with the good cooking 
and Mary’s sweet conversation; for he was tempted 
in all points as we are, and must have had some long- 


82 


Why Not 


ings for more than mere duty. He kept from sin 
with it all ; and as long as we can do that, we need not 
be afraid of visiting/’ 

“You can’t find a place where Paul wanted any- 
thing but God’s work,” said Katherine. 

“He was very grateful to Lydia, and to others who 
entertained him,” reminded Cherry, with some em- 
phasis. 

“Mamma, is it right to make the life of Christ our 
pattern in every way?” Margaret asked as her mother 
entered. 

“The spirit of it must be emulated; but there is a 
good deal of foolish talk on the subject. He did not 
go to college because God gave him wisdom, but 
Paul had the best instruction of his day. Christ did 
not ride in a railroad or use a street-car; but as he 
used a boat, so he would have used a car, no doubt.” 

“He did not ask all of his disciples to give up their 
homes, and go from town to town,” said Cherry. 
“Lazarus certainly kept his home.” 

“It is one of the greatest anxieties of my life how 
to follow in his steps,” said Katherine. 

“Better take the fourteenth chapter of John as your 
model. We are to have peace, not anxiety, in the 
Christian life,” answered Mrs. King. 

The dozen young ladies who met at the thimble 
party were nearly all Christian girls; but Katherine 
noticed they talked of very earthly things — the last 
concert, a book which was causing comment, and the 
new spring styles. Cherry gave some of her college 
experiences, which brought forth peals of laughter. 
A dainty five-o’clock tea was served in the dining- 


Saint Katherine 


83 


room. After the company returned to the parlor, 
Lena was asked to sing. She gave “Then you ’ll re- 
member me/’ in her sweetest voice. Then Katherine 
was urged to sing, and she responded by singing, 

“Take my life, and let it be 
Consecrated, Lord, to thee,” 

in a very earnest manner. There was an awkward 
pause after the song, which was not broken until the 
girls parted for home. 

“Why did those girls, if they are Christians, seem 
so frightened over that hymn?” Katherine asked on 
their way home. “I have given my voice to my King, 
and can not sing frivolous things.” 

“You had better wait, then, to sing at a consecra- 
tion service,” said Cherry, quite out of humor with 
her cousin. 

“Mamma, why did that song seem so inappropri- 
ate?” Margaret asked when they talked over the oc- 
currence later. 

“It was the implied rebuke that nettled me,” said 
Cherry. “But, mamma, honestly, is n’t Miss Havergal 
extreme in that poem?” 

“Not in the spirit, for we belong entirely to the 
Lord; but literally she did not give all her gold, 
though in the latter part of her life she sent most of 
her treasures to the Missionary Society. She allowed 
herself money for travel and many luxuries, and no 
doubt she was as much led of the Lord as when she 
sent her money to the missionary cause. The Lord 
did not mean she should not enjoy the Alps or the 
glory of the sea; but all this took money she might 


8 4 


Why Not 


have given directly to God’s work. I believe we can 
sing for Jesus, and not always use hymns. A mother 
sings lullabies to her children, and you give papa 
great pleasure with the old-fashioned ballads. During 
the last six years of her life Miss Havergal felt led 
to sing only religious songs; but because she was 
blessed in that, is no reason every one else should do 
the same. If Katherine had been led of the Spirit to 
sing that consecration hymn in the midst of your 
harmless gayety, the effect would have been different. 
You would have felt the power of God, and been made 
better instead of disturbed. My dear daughters, if 
you live in the spirit of that hymn, you will be led to 
show your consecration to God in a way that will not 
be painful to others, and only in rare cases will you 
be called to attract attention by being peculiar. Do 
not be afraid of being peculiar ; but be very sure God 
leads if you do anything objectionable to others.” 


CHAPTER IX 


The Cooking Club 

“IT has been almost impossible to interest Lena in 
* anything lately; but she does seem to enjoy the 
cooking club. You will get a good many dinners this 
week, Katherine ; for Margaret and I are practicing 
for our dinner Saturday. You see we meet once a 
week at some home, eight of us girls, and take lessons 
in the culinary art. Mother is the noted bread and 
biscuit maker of Rockville; Aunt Jennie excels in 
cake, Mrs. Gardner in jellies and canned fruit, and 
Mrs. Porter in salads and all that line, though she 
has a French cook on hands. A trained nurse from 
the city gave us some lessons in cooking for the sick, 
so we feel competent to minister to all sorts and con- 
ditions of men.” 

“But what ’s the use, Margaret? I Ve had cooking 
enough in ma’s kitchen to know it *s mere drudgery,” 
said Katherine. 

“It ’s to make cooking ‘and the action fine/ that 
we educated women must take hold of cooking as a 
fine art,” said Cherry. “We have the best times in 
the world, Katherine. Of course, we laugh at each 
other’s mistakes, and crow over our own victories. 
We distribute our messes among the sick, or the poor, 
or our overburdened friends who are doing their own 
work, or we fall to, and eat up our goodies in a little 
spread of our own ; but the town has not been struck 

85 


86 


Why Not 


with an epidemic of dyspepsia yet. I enjoy a cook- 
book. It sounds so good to read of creamed butter 
and sugar, and spice, and everything nice." 

“Cherry, I can't understand how a girl like you 
can be so fond of eating," said Katherine, piously. 

“Why not?" asked Cherry, lifting her upturned 
nose a little higher. “I have n't dyspepsy or jaundice." 

“Why not?" inquired Margaret, with a little frown. 
“Nothing is referred to more frequently in literature 
than the pleasure of eating. Do not the classics tell 
of the banquets of their gods, with their nectar and 
ambrosia ? Have n't we been regaled again and again 
with the feasts of the Greeks and Romans, nightingale 
tongues and all? And in modern literature human 
nature is appealed to by the description of a good 
dinner. Can't you just smell Bob Cratchit's Christ- 
mas goose as the children dance around it, and feel 
like smacking your lips with them over the plum- 
pudding?" 

“And as Katherine likes Bible proof that a thing 
is right, it occurs to me that there is a good deal about 
feasting in that good book. When angels visited the 
patriarchs, the best the house and field afforded was 
set before them, and there was a feast when the prod- 
igal son returned," said Cherry. 

“And Christ was present at the wedding feast, in- 
stead of chiding them for making merry; he even 
made more wine, and he was at the feasts and fed the 
multitude when he might have sent them away fasting. 
Bread alone would have stayed their hunger; but 
meat was added, and all in such abundance that much 
was left. Jesus ate with his disciples the last thing; 


The Cooking Club 87 

and after his resurrection he gave them a breakfast/’ 
said Margaret. 

“And even the joy of heaven is likened to a great 
feast, the marriage supper of the Lamb/’ said Mrs. 
King, softly. 

“Girls, I never thought of the pleasure of eating 
as one of God’s gifts,” said Katherine, slowly. 

“But things might have been tasteless, or as bitter 
as quinine, so we would have to force ourselves to 
eat enough to be kept alive,” suggested Cherry. 

“Yes; but I thought, because some kinds of food 
were so delicious, it gave us a better opportunity to 
mortify our bodies by eating for only actual nourish- 
ment,” said Katherine. “Ma says it is wrong to 
pamper the appetite when money is needed for the 
Lord’s work.” 

“Our mother says the Lord needs strong, healthy, 
hearty people for his work, and those who eat just 
enough to keep soul and body together are not his 
most vigorous servants. But, Katherine, I do n’t just 
understand about mortifying the body. I thought 
only misguided souls did penance,” said Cherry. 

“I am sure fasting has been observed by the saintly 
in every Church,” answered Katherine. “I know I 
have been helped spiritually by doing without candy 
or fruit when I felt I was enjoying such things too 
much.” 

“And that is why you refused my elegant ice-cream 
yesterday!” cried Cherry, in great disgust. 

“Yes, because I found I was caring too much for 
the good things you seem to be accustomed to,” re- 
plied Katherine, bravely, her flushed face and down- 


88 


Why Not 


cast eyes showing it was no easy matter to show her 
inmost convictions to her cousins. 

“Katherine, you are a dear, good girl, and I honor 
you for standing by your principles," said Margaret, 
slipping beside Katherine on the sofa, and encircling 
her with her arm. “Norah, our minister's daughter, 
told me that her father became so anxious about the 
special services this winter he fasted until he was al- 
most ill, and mamma has said that in times of great 
trouble she has prayed so long she could not eat. 
But don't you think these are special occasions? Is 
not the appetite for food as much God's gift as the 
organs that digest the food?" 

“We are tempted in even the best things; but I 
suppose eating and drinking could be done for the 
glory of God," faltered Katherine, nestling closer to 
Margaret. 

“Of course/' said Margaret. “I am sure that the 
good things of life can be enjoyed 'for His sake.' I 
will try to be kept from gluttony and selfishness in 
eating, if you will try and enjoy what happens to come 
to you at the table." 

“I will," replied Katherine. “I can't help seeing 
that you girls get more out of life than I do, and yet 
you seem to do as much Church work and not neglect 
your Bibles." 

“No, Katherine, we do not seek the presence of 
God as much as you do ; but I am going to read my 
Bible more. It seems to me one might have the serene 
spirit you have and yet live in Rockville, instead of 
simply waiting for transportation to another world." 

“You can live with your Rockville windows open 


The Cooking Club 


89 


towards Jerusalem," said Katherine, with a smile. 
“But girls, there is another matter I want to talk 
about. You know I took the honors of my class, and 
expected to devote myself to literature ; but I am 
afraid to write anything but religious articles, and 
they are not much in demand. I have confined myself 
to religious books so long I fairly ache to read some- 
thing of George Eliot's, or Thackeray's, or some stir- 
ring modern fiction you have." 

“Katherine, you have no more right to starve your 
mind than your body," said Margaret. “Here I can 
sympathize with you, for I have had the same experi- 
ence. Mamma found I was moping over devout 
books all of the time, and she said God wanted me to 
cultivate my intellect as well as my soul, and that I 
was like a person who closed one eye and used only 
one. I went back to more general reading, and I 
found I got more help from one hour of devotional 
reading with my mind and heart hungry for it, than 
in a day’s reading when that was all I had. Mamma's 
rule is, if a book makes the Bible seem dull it is not 
a good book ; and Brother Lawrence's, the practice of 
the presence of God is next to my Bible." 

“Dear me," sighed Cherry. “I need just such a 
cousin and sister. I do n't care a pin for the inward 
inspections of saints, and sometimes the Bible does 
seem dull. I suppose I will inch along like the poor 
inch-worm the colored people talk about, while you 
will fairly fly up the heights." 

“I remember Miss Havergal wrote once that she 
was so hungry and dull mentally she had to take up 
Shakespeare," said Katherine, who liked to pattern 


9 o 


Why Not 


after some saintly person, without considering the 
difference in environment or temperament. 

“Girls, are you dead, or lost in speculation ? I ’ve 
tried the bell and my knuckles, but could not get the 
door opened. After an entrance at the kitchen portal, 
I want to warn you that you ought to be at Lena’s 
this moment !” Maud exclaimed, breaking in upon the 
sober reflections of her cousins. “I brought up the 
mail, and I suppose Mr. Stevens has accepted Mar- 
garet’s invitation. Papa insisted that I invite a village 
boy,” and Maud frowned a little. 

“Yes, Mr. Stevens accepts with thanks,” said Mar- 
garet, quietly. 

“Just my luck,” cried Cherry, putting her hand 
on her heart. “I go to the city and capture one of 
the talented young lawyers. He calls at my country 
home, and finds my elder sister holding the fort. After 
that he forgets my very existence.” 

“You forget he always takes you when he does me 
to anything in the city,” reminded Margaret. 

“But he looks at you, and I have the dimples,” 
laughed Cherry. 

Margaret’s face flushed; but she was not noticed 
as the girls were hurrying over to the Porter mansion. 
Of course, there were servants to get the dinner ready 
without help from the young ladies who were to enter- 
tain; but it was one of the rules of the club that no 
one should assist the young cooks in any way. 

“I ’ve done a wicked thing,” whispered Cherry to 
Maud. “I ’ve coaxed mamma to make a fine batch 
of rolls for the home supper, and if mine refuse to 
rise and shine I ’m going to change. I ’d rather con- 


The Cooking Club 


9i 


fess than have any of our friends die of indigestion. 
Young men are too scarce out here to take any risks.” 

Katherine found the girls had great sport in pre- 
paring their dinner. The courses were soup, fish, 
lamb-chops with peas and potato chips, salad with 
wafers, and dessert. 

The nine young men who were favored with an 
invitation declared that such delicacies had never 
passed their lips before. A young minister had been 
selected for Katherine. Cherry invited her brother. 
“I know Rob is younger than the others, but I do n't 
care ; he is always waiting on us girls, and it is as little 
as we can do to honor him now.” 

Only Margaret knew what a sacrifice it was for 
Cherry not to show her culinary gifts to a certain 
classmate of hers. Margaret confided this to Kath- 
erine, and she knew she had not been as thoughtful 
of her brother Paul, though the saving of his soul was 
often on her heart. 

Once Katherine would have thought the conver- 
sation at the party sinful, because not on strictly re- 
ligious subjects. There was just a moment's hush 
for the devout thanks of the young minister, and then 
the nonsense began. Several young men affirmed they 
had taken out accident policies on their lives. Others 
said they were being entertained by angels, who were 
well aware what they were. Many brilliant quotations 
convinced Katherine that the writers of all ages had 
said much in praise of eating. Nothing failed, though 
Cherry admitted unblushingly that her family were 
at that moment consuming her own make of rolls, 
because her mother's dough had risen to the times 


92 


Why Not 


better than hers. Lena might have made some such 
confession about the delicious salad; but her home 
training had been that truth was not always the best 
policy. The other girls had clear consciences, and 
accepted their share of praise as well-earned laurels. 
As the dinner was followed by toasts, there was little 
time for other things. When there was an hour of 
conversation in the library looking over rare engrav- 
ings, or in the conservatory discussing plants, Mar- 
garet and Mr. Stevens went to the latter place for a 
stroll among the palms. 

“Miss Margaret/' the young man began, “we are 
to have an unusual operatic festival. Cincinnati has 
never had so many prima donnas and noted artists 
before at any one time. Your sister will be at col- 
lege; but may I not have the pleasure of your com- 
pany for the season?" 

“Thank you ; but I must decline," replied Mar- 
garet, firmly. “Not but that I would enjoy the music, 
for I had enough of such things before I became a 
Christian to know they would charm me ; but I could 
not be an earnest Christian and attend the theater or 
opera. I want even my recreations to make me 
better." 

“I am deeply disappointed," answered the young 
man, in a tone that left no doubt of its sincerity ; “yet 
I acknowledge I am one who expects a difference be- 
tween the world and Christians, except when it gives 
me discomfort as this refusal does. I am like the rich 
young man of old. I want to follow your Master; but 
I can not make up my mind to leave all my selfish 
inclinations for worldly pleasure. I want freedom." 


The Cooking Club 


93 


“You would find the greatest freedom in following 
Christ, Mr. Stevens,” Margaret said, earnestly. “It 
is the one thing you lack.” 

This was said with such sweet candor the young 
man blushed with pleasure. He cared just now more 
for the good opinion of this lovely young lady than 
anything else, even the claims of the Master she loved. 


CHAPTER X 


Paul’s Rebellion 

Y\ J HEN Katherine went home the next week, it 
* " was with the determination to make life brighter 
for her brother, even if she had less time for the devo- 
tional life in which she hid herself from the cares and 
trials of earthly existence. Katherine stopped a week 
in the city with Cousin Hannah, and, unfortunately 
for her good resolutions, when she reached home the 
opportunity she wanted was gone. 

The King family were lingering over waffles and 
honey, to enjoy the conversation that made supper 
such a pleasure, when Mollie ushered in a tall young 
man with a pale, distressed-looking face. 

“Paul Moreland, we are very glad to see you ; but 
I hope there is nothing wrong at home,” said Mr. 
King, rising from his chair and giving his nephew 
a hearty grasp of the hand. 

“Things are so wrong there I could not stand it 
any longer, so I packed my grip and left,” was the 
reply, in a sullen tone. “As I had no money I walked 
part of the way, and I had several lifts in a farmer’s 
wagon, and at last a brakeman I happened to know 
let me ride on a freight-train the last forty miles. I 
have n’t had anything to eat to-day.” 

“Sit down, my boy, you can explain after supper,” 
Mrs. King said hastily; for she saw by the stern ex- 
pression of her husband’s face he would like to send 
94 


Paul's Rebellion 


95 


the young man back at once. Paul waited for no 
second invitation ; but sank into a chair and began to 
eat eagerly. After the family went into the sitting- 
room, leaving the two younger ones to feed the pets, 
Mr. King asked, “Now, Paul, what was the trouble 
at home?” 

“Father and I had words about my going to a 
dance. I suppose I was impudent, for he got so hot 
over something I said he struck me. I shall not go 
back. I am on my way to the city, and will have to 
make my way as many a poor boy has done before me. 
I am tired of being treated like a child, and I ’m dead 
sick of religion. It is all Kate thinks of, so she has no 
trouble ; but I ’m through with having nothing but 
the Bible and religious papers to read, and going to 
meeting whether I want to or not. Mother cares only 
for a clean house, and I can’t bring a boy home with 
me, for fear he will leave mud on the doorstep.” 

“Your mother has always worked hard for you, 
and this will break her heart,” said Mr. King, sternly. 
“You can’t talk against my sister and stay under this 
roof. You have not had a very bright life ; but you 
might have borne it like a man for your mother’s 
sake.” 

Tears came into the young man’s eyes. He loved 
his mother, though he thought her narrow and Puri- 
tanical. 

“You might have left home without running away 
like a thief,” said Mr. King. 

“I came near running away myself once,” spoke 
up Robert, who thought his father was playing a very 
inhospitable part. 


96 


Why Not 


“You, sir!” exclaimed his father, who supposed his 
children had appreciated even his discipline. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the young man, exchanging a 
laughing glance with his mother, from whom he had 
no secrets. “I was a little fellow, and wanted to go 
fishing with some big boys, and when I kept on teas- 
ing about it you threatened to do your worst. So I 
packed up a few things, and concluded to run away 
and stay until you would repent, and be ready to act 
the prodigal father on my return.” 

“And where were you going?” asked the father, 
much amused. 

“That, sir, was the only difficulty. I sat on the 
orchard fence considering until I heard the supper- 
bell. I concluded I might as well take one more sup- 
per with the family, as I happened to know there was 
chicken on the menu. At the table you said you were 
going to drive to the next county in the morning, and 
I might get Charlie, and mamma could put up a nice 
lunch, and we would make a picnic of it. I was glad 
to sneak out to the orchard and get in my traps, and 
substitute a ride for a tramp.” 

They all laughed at this happy ending, and by that 
time Mr. King was feeling more sympathy with his 
nephew. 

“You can stay and visit us a week, and we will see 
if some employment can be found,” said Mr. King, 
who saw that the young man was in no mood to face 
the temptations of city life. 

“But you must write at once and relieve your 
mother’s mind,” said Mrs. King. 

Paul assented to this very unwillingly ; but at last 


Paul's Rebellion 


97 


the letter was sent. By return mail an answer came, 
saying that when Paul would decide to be obedient 
to every wish of his father's he could return ; but until 
then, he could take care of himself. 

“I will go to the city and show them I am more of 
a man than they think," Paul said, bitterly. 

“What shall we do about it, papa?" Mrs. King 
asked, when they were alone. “He is your sister’s 
child." 

“But you have burdens enough with your own 
children ; do n’t suggest keeping him," answered Mr. 
King. 

“We have taken such good care of Robert I do n’t 
know how to let a boy room with him who smells of 
tobacco, and thinks so little of religion. But I know 
he has had an unpleasant time at home, and has seen 
only the stern, unrelenting side of religion. He has 
had so much of the law, I would like to try a little of 
the gospel of love. Please find a place for him in the 
mill, John, at some kind of employment, and let me 
see what I can do." 

“He won’t earn his board and clothes with what 
I could find for him to do," was the answer. 

“No ; but we can afford to lose money on this mis- 
sionary enterprise," said Mrs. King, cheerily. 

As was the custom, there was a family council be- 
fore the matter was fully decided, as Cherry happened 
home for a day. 

“Paul has no manners," objected Margaret. “That 
will be bad for Tommy, who is like a wild Indian at 
best." 

“He is selfish," said Cherry. 


9 8 


Why Not 


“He is cross and glum/’ sighed Rob ; “but I ’ll 
take him, marma, if you wish it.” 

“No, I’ll fix up the little hall bedroom; but will 
you all promise to win him to a better life by kind- 
ness ?” 

They all promised to help in every way, and the 
matter was decided much to Paul's relief, who wanted 
to show his parents that his uncle's family, always 
considered a pattern, thought him good enough to be 
one of their number. He was not so well pleased 
when he found his place at the mill was among rough 
workmen ; but as he was able to have three dollars left 
after paying his small board-bill each week he was 
satisfied. He had been working for his father; but 
had to ask for every cent he needed or wasted. 

Paul's clothes and wheel were sent, though he did 
not know he owed this favor to the entreaties of Kath- 
erine, who determined to win her brother back by 
love. 

“Come, Bob,” Paul said, one lovely May morning. 
“Let us take our wheels and go to the country, and 
bring the girls some flowers. Perhaps Margaret and 
Maud might go too.” 

“Why, Paul Moreland, it is Sunday !” said Robert. 

“What of that? You and I are housed up all 
week, and Margie is teaching. Why not take a little 
pleasure on Sunday ? I counted over a hundred young 
people who went by our house last Sunday before we 
went to Church, and most of them mighty nice-look- 
ing, too.” 

“That does not make it right,” insisted Robert. 
“If they were going to Church or on some errand of 


Paul's Rebellion 


99 


necessity, I don’t see that a wheel is worse than a 
horse. But just to take a Sunday excursion is not 
keeping the Fourth Commandment.” 

“Nonsense,” growled Paul, and he wheeled off in 
great disgust, while Robert went to Church, wishing 
he were out in the country where the orchards were 
pink and white, yet glad he had not yielded to Paul’s 
way of getting there. Paul did not enjoy his lonely 
ride, and came back in time for the Sunday dinner, 
which was the best in the week without any one work- 
ing very hard, as much was prepared on Saturday. 
He had been used to a cold dinner on Sunday at 
home, which had always put him in a bad humor. 
Nothing was said of Paul’s absence at Church, as it 
was the policy to lead rather than drive young people 
into good things. Mrs. King felt the wisdom of this 
when Paul joined the rest in Sunday-school. Strange 
to say, here he met a new temptation to desecrate the 
Sabbath. When he came out he was followed by two 
young men in his uncle’s Bible-class, who said, “Come, 
Moreland, we ’re going for a little fresh air ; but we 
do n’t want Deacon Bob to spoil the fun.” 

Paul was getting restive under restraint; for he 
had a good deal of it, although there was much kind- 
ness mixed with it. “I ’ll go for a while,” Paul an- 
swered, slipping around a corner while his uncle was 
detained in the church a moment. Paul was not so 
well pleased when he found a carriage at the foot of 
the hill, where Harold was trying to hold a pair of 
very spirited horses. 

“We are going to take a drive to Clear Springs. 
It is open now, and is the prettiest summer resort near 


Lof C. 


IOO 


Why Not 


the city. There ’s no harm in going ; for Church peo- 
ple stay there all summer, and can't help listening to 
the band concert on Sunday." 

“I do n't think I 'll go," said Paul, slowly. 

“We knew you are earning your own living, and 
thought you could stand a dollar as your share of the 
treat ; but I 'll pay for you if you are not your own 
man," said Harold, with a sneering tone. 

“I 'll let you know when I need you to pay my 
bills," replied Paul, stepping into the carriage, his 
pride getting the better of his judgment. 

In Southern Ohio, May is a poem bound in white 
and green, and the beautiful scenery and jolly com- 
panionship made Paul soon forget his scruples, and 
he enjoyed the ride as well as the rest. The resort was 
on one of the hilltops, and beer-drinking seemed the 
chief attraction to the crowd on the green surround- 
ing the springs. The band played its liveliest strains, 
and there was nothing in the noisy crowd to suggest 
the Sabbath. Paul took beer and cigars with the rest, 
and joined them in a hot supper at the hotel, for which 
he had to humble himself to ask a loan from Harold. 
They started home before dark, and Paul expected 
to slip in the rear of the church with Fred Jones, and 
his uncle would conclude he had taken supper with 
Fred, which was true, and Fred's father would think 
that his son had been at the King home for tea. This 
plan might have worked as expected ; but Harold in- 
sisted on driving, and he had had wine where the 
others had taken beer. The horses shied at some- 
thing, and the young driver used the lash, and the 
horses gave a spring that sent the carriage down an 


Paul's Rebellion 


IOI 


embankment. The horses were able to tear themselves 
loose and escape with only slight injury; but the boys 
were not so fortunate, though Paul was the only one 
seriously hurt. He had jumped from the carriage 
when he saw what was coming, and had fallen against 
a rock. He was carried to the cottage of a laborer 
in an unconscious state, that frightened the boys into 
forgetting their own bruises. The first indication of 
the accident was the return of the horses, and then 
Mr. Jones was informed that his son had hired the 
carriage. Mr. Jones had seen Paul with his son, and 
Mr. King joined him in the search for the boys. They 
took Dr. Clark with them ; and it was well, for they 
found Paul still unconscious. When he awoke, it was 
to the keenest agony of his life. 

“Do n’t tell father, and I ’ll bear any punishment, 
and work day and night until I ’ve paid all this will 
cost,” whispered the poor fellow. 

“My dear boy, you will be punished enough with 
suffering,” said his uncle, tenderly ; “but we will make 
it as easy as possible for you.” 

Paul bore the setting of the leg and arm and the 
painful ride home like a hero, and was very brave 
during the first hard days that followed. Everything 
was forgotten but the comfort of the invalid. Even 
Tommy brought forward his gifts of love, from a stick 
of candy to a brisk little hoptoad. Ruth nearly ran 
her feet off waiting on the prisoner, and Margaret 
read and sang to Paul as devotedly as if he were her 
own brother. His heroic state passed by when the 
days lengthened into weeks, and Paul became like a 
caged lion. But there was no lessening of loving 


102 


Why Not 


kindness when it became a real trial to endure his 
harsh speeches. He was very particular about his 
eating, and had every dainty. One day he had a 
revelation from Tommy. “I hope I ’ll break some- 
thing some time. We do n’t have no more pudding 
for dinner ’cause the cream has to be made into ice- 
cream for you, and mamma sells the eggs to get you 
the goodies you like. Wish I was sick, and then Mar- 
garet would make me candy too.” 

All this time, though Paul was not seemingly grate- 
ful, his nature was changing, as a frozen lake melts 
under a warm sun. It was impossible to know that 
he was not receiving all this from love. He knew 
none of them had been drawn to him ; but they were 
doing it for the sake of doing good for Christ’s sake. 
At first he fretted over his pain and imprisonment 
because of its consequences to himself. Then he went 
a little higher, and was sorry for those who had so 
much trouble on his account, and for the mother he 
had never appreciated. Then he realized the prayer 
of the repentant one of old, “Against thee and thee 
only have I sinned and done this evil in thy sight.” 

One June night there came up a terrible thunder- 
storm, and Paul heard Tommy cry, “Papa, I ’m afraid 
of God; he speaks so loud.” 

“My son, God loves you. Ask him to take care 
of you, and do not be afraid,” was the answer to 
Tommy. 

“I want your hand,” wailed the little fellow. 

“I ’ll hold your hand while you need me,” came 
the answer that brought quiet in the nursery. 

The sick young man at the end of the hall repeated, 


Paul's Rebellion 


103 


“I am afraid. O God, take my hand and be my Father, 
and love and forgive me,” and he fell asleep, with a 
great peace in his heart. After that he wanted his 
mother, and she came gladly and rejoiced in a new 
son. Mr. Moreland had been west; but he stopped 
on his way home, and insisted on taking Paul home. 
The doctor said he could be moved with care, and 
Mr. King thought it a good time for Paul to begin 
his home-life over again when his own heart was so 
softened and penitent, and his father anxious to atone 
for the harshness that sent him away. Katherine was 
so glad to have an opportunity to show her brother 
how she loved him, that he was in as much danger of 
being spoiled by petting as he had been by harshness. 


CHAPTER XI 


Fresh Air Friends 

DELLE EVANS began it. She came home for a 
week’s vacation, and brought her three tired shop- 
girls with her. 

“If people as poor as the Evans family can afford 
fresh-air visitors, we certainly can,” Margaret said to 
her mother one sultry morning in July. 

“Certainly, dear; but I wish you would accept 
Cousin Hannah’s invitation to go to the seashore with 
her. You have been shut up in the schoolroom so 
long,” answered her mother. 

“Mamma, I have found a substitute to go with 
Cousin Hannah. It is not all sacrifice either; for she 
will not take her maid if she does one of her friends, 
and it is a little tiresome to feel obliged to read aloud 
occasionally, or ride or walk on demand, though 
Cousin Hannah is always lovely about everything. 
Dora Ross is not well, and the doctor advised sea- 
bathing. As Dora confided to me, he might as well 
have ordered a trip to the moon ; for her father must 
have an outing, and there is not money enough in a 
minister’s purse for all to vacate at once. Cousin 
Hannah fell in love with Dora when we spent a few 
days there, and she was quite agreeable to the change, 
and Dora is wild with delight, for she has never seen 
the mountains or sea, and Cousin Hannah is to take 
in the White Mountains as well as Ocean Grove.” 

104 


Fresh Air Friends 


105 


Back of all this there was a secret ; for she and her 
sister had decided that “mother” must have a rest 
The father gladly joined in the conspiracy, and all 
arrangements were made for Mr. King to take his wife 
to Chautauqua in a few days. When she discovered 
all this she demurred, as mothers will. “How can you 
keep Ruth and Tommy out of mischief, and enter- 
tain Cherry's room-mate, and put up the summer fruit, 
and help in the fresh-air movement?” 

“Mother, try us,” begged Cherry. “I will help 
Mollie with the work, and Margaret will discipline the 
children, as she has her hand in, in that kind of work. 
We will find nearly every one ready to take city vis- 
itors ; but we can do our share.” 

“Our room is engaged and our tickets bought,” 
said Mr. King, and that settled the controversy. 

“Get Mrs. Mallory to wash, and do n’t work too 
hard, and do n’t let Tommy go near the water, or 
mash pins on the railroad track, or Ruth play too 
much in the sun,” were the last words of the mother 
from the car-window as the family bade farewell out- 
side. “And if you have fresh-air visitors with chil- 
dren, do n’t — ” 

The girls were never sure what that do n’t in- 
cluded, as the train moved off before the sentence was 
finished. 

“Now,” said Cherry, “I will at once betake myself 
to the current-jelly with Mollie, and get that out of 
the way, and you take the pony and find how many 
homes are open to city visitors. You need Tommy to 
hold the horse.” 

“Desperately,” laughed Margaret, who was the 


io6 


Why Not 


only one who could manage the mischievous boy when 
his parents were away. “I need Ruth too, and that 
will give you the opportunity of your life to show 
what you have learned at the club.” 

Rockville was not one of the aristocratic suburbs. 
There were a few pretentious mansions like the Porter 
home; but most of the houses were old-fashioned, 
large, and roomy, surrounded by wide lawns and fine 
old trees, with small orchards or gardens in the rear. 
The heavily-shaded, winding avenues gave one the 
idea of the country. 

Margaret did not get home until dinner-time, and 
then she came in with flushed cheeks and flashing 
eyes, a rare thing for her, as she was very tranquil 
as a rule. 

Cherry met her with flushed cheeks and stained 
hands, but with a merry laugh. 

“You look like a thunder-cloud, Margie.” 

“I feel more like a cyclone. I have visited all of 
our best homes, and only four would take summer 
visitors.” 

“Every one in Rockville is crowded with summer 
company, I suppose.” 

“Almost every one is crowded with the desire to 
have a restful, happy summer,” sighed Margaret. 
“There is a great difference in people who live simply 
for enjoyment, and those who are brought up to share 
their comforts with others. Lena’s home was closed 
for the summer. Edith was afraid some one around 
would make her nervous, and Maud thought it would 
be awkward to have a working girl around when they 
had company. She meant, of course, that millionaire 


Fresh Air Friends 


107 


fop Uncle James worries about. Ethel Brown expects 
company from the East, and is planning dancing and 
card parties galore. Mrs. Holland is afraid of her new 
hardwood floors and elegant furniture. Yet the min- 
ister's wife said, 'Send two of your most forlorn chil- 
dren,' and the dear old Freeman sisters said they 
would sleep together and give a room to two wornout 
women." 

"Yet, Miss Lizzie can't sleep well with any one. 
That 's a real sacrifice 'for His sake,' " said Cherry. 

"Yes, those sisters live for others, and are just as 
happy as they can be. Anna Gardner insists on two 
coming there, although she gets weaker every day 
and ought to have perfect quiet. Of course, we will 
take two." 

"Yes, indeed, though Mollie threatened flight until 
I promised to help her even more than mother did; 
but she shows her good sense, for it would not do to 
kill one worker to build up another," said Cherry. 

"We 'll divide the housework Mollie can't do, and 
hire the washing," said Margaret, and she did not 
notice Cherry's smile ; for Margaret, with all her high 
ideals and fine intellectual attainments, hated house- 
work, and her ability was more in management than 
in actual physical labor. 

"It 's the same in the Flower Mission work," said 
Margaret, who did not think of cooking and dish- 
washing long. “The Freeman girls, as we call them, 
cut off every posy each Saturday morning; but their 
flowers spring right out again, as if they were glad 
to be used. Mrs. Evans shares her pansies and sweet- 
peas, and yet some of our wealthiest families will not 


io8 


Why Not 


have a flower picked because they want the show on 
the lawn. Their roses are only for this world." 

“Every life is consecrated to something/' said 
Cherry. “Those who are consecrated to pleasure are 
not consecrated to helping others. As sure as you 
live, Margie, the girls who dance all winter must have 
some summer hotel or their own parlors for dancing 
all summer. But the girls of what Lena calls the 
goody-good set can help others have a good time, 
and yet — " 

“Have our share of moonlight rides, and picnics, 
and lawn parties, so we need n't pose as sacrificing 
for humanity/' suggested Margaret. 

“I was feeling quite puffed up with goodness ; but 
you have pricked my bubble of vanity," laughed 
Cherry. “But one of our friends, Belle Evans, really 
is sacrificing. I happen to know she is going to wear 
a faded old lawn all summer to be able to entertain 
her friends for a week, and I 've invited them all over 
for supper to-morrow evening, and I 'll make the cake 
and pineapple-ice myself." 

This tea-party proved a great success. Belle ap- 
preciated being able to show her friends a home so 
much nicer than her own humble cottage, and the 
village girls found the three young girls from the city 
were bright and entertaining. They laughed at Sid- 
ney's wit, felt drawn to Mollie's white, sad face, and 
felt like petting little Mamie, who seemed more like 
a sweet child than a self-supporting business woman. 

The committee in the city sent all kinds and con- 
ditions of feminine humanity out in response to the 
invitation from Rockville. 


Fresh Air Friends 


109 


“There are tired, heatsick men who ought to have 
a rest and a little fresh air, in order to be able to sup- 
port their families, and plenty of boys who need the 
country for their morals, if not their health; but the 
girls are doing this, and some one else must look after 
the men. Perhaps no one will, except the saloon- 
keepers, more ’s the pity,” Cherry said, when she had 
to refuse a dozen or more boys, who wanted to leave 
town instead of working in factories or as cash-boys. 
Three visitors fell to the King family — a seamstress 
with a hacking cough, and a young slip of a girl who 
had fainted several times in the sewing-room of a 
large manufacturing place, where fainting was not 
allowed by the foreman. When all were provided for, 
it was found that there was a little girl in a very 
ragged and very dirty dress, who had not been in- 
vited. She looked with appealing eyes from out her 
tangled mass of auburn curls, and said : “Nobody 
asked me to come. I heard they was going to send 
me back to the industrial school, so I went to the 
depot to come out in the country and hunt work. I ’m 
’leven goin’ on twelve.” 

“She don’t look over ten, Ruth’s age; but I will 
take her until we can see what can be done,” said 
Margaret. As usual she had the grand idea, but had 
to have help in carrying it into a reality. 

“We can’t put that street Arab anywhere near 
Ruth,” said Cherry. “I ’ve made a startling dis- 
covery, I might say a moving discovery.” 

Margaret shuddered. “They ought to know better 
than let such a specimen of humanity come out to 
Rockville,” she said, in her most aristocratic tone. 

8 


no 


Why Not 


“We should have only the most refined and genteel 
poor people to freshen up with our pure air. Such 
creatures of the slums, if they ought to have a chance 
to live, ought to go to busy farmer’s wives, w r ho have 
to do their own work, and would enjoy hunting vermin 
between times,” answered Cherry. 

“Come, Cherry, call me a selfish old thing, and be 
done with it. I am ashamed of myself. There is no 
one who has ^ better right to work over that disgust- 
ing little thing than I, and I shall take the entire 
charge of her to punish myself for the repugnance I 
feel for everything that is not as clean as my fastidious 
nature demands. I will not be so detestable as to shun 
one of Christ’s little ones. I could not again think of 
'for His sake,’ if I did not take care of Nannie just 
because it is a trial,” and Margaret looked so penitent 
Cherry kissed her, and said with her merry smile : 
“You inherited all the patrician blood in our family; 
but I came from the plebeian side. I do n’t mind it a 
bit to use my hands for anything that brings good 
results, and can care for Nannie without turning sick, 
as you surely would do. If you refused I should feel 
differently ; but you never let your high-flown notions 
stand in the way of duty, so I ’ll take Nancy. As I 
hate to talk to deaf people, I ’ll turn over Miss Sarah 
to you.” 

“I ’ll talk to Miss Sarah, for I see she greatly en- 
joys conversation, after living alone for so long. But, 
dear, I have a special reason for wanting Nannie. 
You have more household work than I, for Mollie 
thinks I am only in her way ; so this child shall be my 
special charge. I ’ll begin with her in the bathroom, 


Fresh Air Friends 


hi 


and put Ruth’s clothes on her, and then take her to 
the back porch for her hair. Of course, at present she 
can’t play with the children. She looks out of her 
bright eyes as if her head were as full of mischief in- 
side, as of abominable things outside. I ’ll cut it off, 
and that will simplify matters.” 

"Her head?” 

"No; only that mass of tangled curls. The color 
is beautiful ; but I ’m not saint enough to undertake 
tangles and all the rest,” replied Margaret, putting 
her hands on her own abundant shining hair, with a 
troubled air. 

The little slum girl positively refused to be shorn, 
so Margaret patiently toiled over the long curls with 
a face of horror and disgust that often made Cherry 
turn away with a hearty laugh, smothered by her big 
apron, and followed by "The precious darling! She 
is pure gold, if she is ‘a lady of high degree.’ ” 

Margaret put a little cot bed in a large closet near 
her own room. There was a window in it, and it 
made a cozy place until Nannie could be allowed into 
the large, cool nursery with Ruth. She would slip off 
to play with the children in spite of everything, and 
Margaret found she had new worlds to conquer; but 
in spite of much protesting from the young people 
most grievously tormented, she conquered that diffi- 
culty in a short time. There was compensation in the 
way Miss Sarah wandered under the trees eating de- 
licious summer pears and apples, or gathering all the 
flowers she wished, or lying in a hammock watching 
the birds with an expression of heavenly delight on 
her face. She enjoyed shelling peas, or preparing 


1 12 


Why Not 


vegetables or fruit for the table, and Mollie did not 
hesitate to give her all of such employment she might 
seek. Mollie was a Christian girl, and entered heartily 
into the plan of helping others, and although the 
young ladies thought they were doing wonderful 
things in the way of helping in the household, Mollie 
was heard to remark : “Their ma can do more in one 
hour than the two young ladies in two. It ’s worth 
all they do to clean up after they get through their 
messing.” 

The girls made their ices and salads and dainty 
picnic lunches, and Miss Sarah mollified Mollie by 
washing the dishes and “slicking things up” after the 
children. In return, Mollie talked to the spinster, to 
the satisfaction of both, as it was seldom any one had 
time to listen to all this domestic had to say. Lily, 
the sewing-girl, grew plump and rosy, and enjoyed 
the pleasures that were shared by the young ladies 
of the family. The two weeks were extended to three, 
and both of these workers went back to the city, well 
and strong, with happy memories that would brighten 
many days of hard work. Days of hard work are 
happier than days of idleness, if one is equal to the 
situation ; so the women and girls who went back 
to the city with strength to do their part in the work 
of the world, went with the best gift they could have 
received. 

Nannie was the one thorn in the summer rose at 
the King home. She was so full of mischief that she 
was a constant care to the elders of the family, and 
Mollie’s special trial. It was Ruth’s daily task to care 
for Gypsy, Cherry’s trained canary. Nannie was a 


Fresh Air Friends 


113 

great worker when in one of her good moods ; so she 
begged lazy Ruth to let her care for the bird. 

Ruth gladly consented to this, giving a handful 
of chocolates to seal the bargain. All went well until 
Nannie got into one of her mischievous moods, or 
what Mollie called “a possessed spell/' 

"Miss Cherry lets you out when the windows are 
shut. I do n't see why you can't go out and find your 
own pepper-grass and get a drink at the well, and then 
come back like a good bird," Nannie said. "I won't 
let you out ; but I 'll leave the door open. If you 're 
fool enough to lose yourself, I can't help it." 

Gypsy needed no coaxing when he saw the open 
door. He flew at once into liberty and the nearest 
apple-tree. Nannie soon forgot the bird; but was 
reminded of it by hearing Cherry cry, "O Ruthie, 
you ’ve left the door open, and my valuable bird is 
gone." 

"Nannie tended him this morning," answered 
Ruth, promptly. 

"I saw Tommy open the door," Nannie said, 
quickly. 

Cherry was very much vexed at this, as her small 
brother had often been warned about touching the 
cage. It seemed worse when he stoutly denied the act, 
and Cherry thought, for the added sin of falsehood, 
he ought to be shut up in a dark closet until he re- 
pented. 

About this time a sudden thunderstorm came up. 

"That 's God's voice calling wicked folks," whis- 
pered Ruth to trembling Nannie. 

Margaret had taken Lily out, and Cherry was 


Why Not 


* 14 

occupied soothing Miss Sarah — who was afraid of 
lightning — and forgot the children until she heard 
Ruth and Nannie in the kitchen, and then she re- 
membered how frightened poor Tommy would be in 
his dark prison. She found him asleep on the floor, 
his sticky hands and gingham waist covered with the 
juice of the sun-dried strawberries that had been put 
away for special occasions. 

“Poor little laddie ! he ’s had a sweet time if sister 
did try to make a George Washington out of him ;” 
and she carried him to the hall sofa, where he could 
finish his nap in a comfortable position. Ruth was 
eating cookies in the kitchen and forgetting the storm ; 
but Nannie had disappeared, and Cherry kept up the 
search until she found the child hiding under a feather- 
bed in the attic. The little girl was so nearly suffo- 
cated, that Cherry got her to an open window before 
she began to speak, and then she gasped between her 
sobs, “I got where God could n't see me.” 

“But he can see through everything into your 
heart, Nannie,” said Cherry, severely, still annoyed 
about her bird. 

“Then he knows I told a lie,” sobbed Nannie. “I 
did n’t mean to lose Gypsy. I just told him he could 
go out and get his dinner, and then come back.” 

“And after all our kindness you let Tommy be 
punished for you, O you wicked, wicked girl! You 
shall go right back to the city,” exclaimed Cherry, 
very angry now. 

“You can whip me till the blood runs down — like 
the old woman used to do that broug'ht me up — if you 
won’t send me back,” cried Nannie, trembling with 


Fresh Air Friends 


115 

this new terror. “I ’ll be good if you let me stay. I 
do n’t want to go to the jail school, and there ’s where 
the man at the police station said I ’d got to go if I 
did n’t find folks to take care of me right off. O, 
do n’t send me away !” 

The little girl’s piteous weeping would have soft- 
ened a harder heart than Cherry’s ; so she forgave the 
child, and took her down to supper after bathing her 
face in the bathroom, and telling her it would be as 
Miss Margaret said. 

“I still think we ought to send the child back, as 
mamma is going with papa on that western trip, in- 
stead of coming home, as we expected. Nannie may 
do something dreadful,” Cherry said, when she talked 
the matter over with her sister. 

“She is a very bright, pretty child, and has the 
making of a smart woman, a power for good or evil. 
With her affectionate nature she would starve in a 
reform school. I have found out two things that make 
me think there is a great deal of good in her heart. 
She came to me and begged me to punish her for her 
naughtiness yesterday. I talked to her and prayed 
with her, but felt her repentance was so sincere, that 
that was enough. I saw several dark marks on her 
arm afterwards, and Mollie told me she saw her whip 
herself. The poor child has an idea that blows will 
get the naughtiness out of her. She said nothing of 
this to any one; but made Tommy a present of a 
bright-red ribbon I had given her, which Tommy 
accepted, nothing loath, to tie on the tail of his kite. 
I ’ll watch her more closely, Cherry.” 

Nannie settled the matter herself the next day. 


ii6 


Why Not 


There was a cry from the back porch, and Nannie 
jumped from the swing and ran to see what was the 
matter with Tommy. He had found a pile of shavings 
left from the repairs on the porch, and a couple of 
matches which the carpenter had forgotten when he 
lighted his pipe. At first the youth was content with 
making a castle of shavings. Then he concluded he 
would set the castle on fire, and play fireman with the 
garden hose, lying near. Instantly the flames leaped 
on to his sleeves and up his thin pants before he could 
escape for the water. Nannie was at his side in a 
moment, and caught up the old carpet Mollie kept 
there for the children’s feet, and wrapped up the boy, 
completely smothering the flames with her hands. 
Then she dropped the struggling, screaming Tommy, 
and sprang to the hose he had in view and turned on 
the water, and had a stream going up in the burning 
lattice-work by the time the rest of the family arrived 
on the scene. 

Mollie was in the basement, Pat at the foot of the 
garden, and Cherry in her room changing her dress ; 
so the little fellow must have been burnt fatally and 
the fire on the house gotten well under way, if Nannie 
had waited for help. The situation needed no expla- 
nation, and Cherry left Mollie to carry Tommy into 
the house, still screaming lustily, but not much burned, 
while she covered the slum child’s face with kisses. 

“Nannie knocked me down and smothered me 
and wetted me, for she turned the hose on me, and I 
did n’t do nothing to her,” wailed Tommy, who did 
not yet take in the situation. 

By this time it was found that Tommy had only 


Fresh Air Friends 


117 


slight burns on one arm and one leg, which were at 
once dressed by Mollie’s experienced hands. Nannie’s 
hands and arms were so badly burned Cherry sent for 
the doctor. 

“I ought to be burned for lying,” Nannie whis- 
pered after the doctor had gone, and the child had 
borne her pain as a hero. “You don't think now 
I ’ll have to burn forever in the pit where the bad 
people are thrown. I 'd be willing to burn there ever 
so long, if I could come out an angel at last,” said 
the child. 

“There is no such fire as you think, dear, though 
the bad people are shut away from God, which is as 
hard as suffering physical pain. But you can become 
an angel by being as good as you can every day you 
live, darling,” answered Cherry, and the young girl 
said to herself, “It shall be part of my lifework to see 
that you have a chance to be an angel.” 


CHAPTER XH 


Choosing for One World 

A FTER that, Nannie left off her naughty ways, and 
became a comfort to every one in the household. 
She had learned to read well during her two years 
at the industrial school, and amused Tommy by enter- 
taining tales, which kept him from further mischief. 
When Mr. and Mrs. King returned after their month's 
vacation, and Robert came back from his camping 
expedition, it did not take a prolonged family council 
to decide that Nannie should stay as one of the family. 

“You were wise to keep her away from Ruth until 
we knew more of her ; but I am satisfied, though, she 
has had a hard time, and been sent from one place to 
another, and at last was almost a street waif when her 
aunt died. She is not a bad girl, and we can trust her 
with Ruth. Paul wants to attend school in the city 
and board with us. He is not prepared for college, 
because he refused to study when he might have done 
so,” Mrs. King said, receiving this young man back 
willingly, “for His sake,” as she did many other 
things that gave her added burdens. As the rest of us 
find our crosses blossom into things of beauty if 
borne joyfully, she had her reward for most of her 
kind deeds. 

Paul came back still on crutches, but in a fair way 
towards complete recovery. As Robert was in college 
with Cherry, Paul tried to be as helpful and agreeable 
118 


Choosing for One World 


119 

as possible, for he had seen religion that made people 
not peculiar and unattractive, but delightful in every 
way. 

While things were going on prosperously in the 
King family, there was trouble in the beautiful home 
across the street. Margaret came home one afternoon 
and said: “Mamma, I have been to see two sick girls 
to-day, and I see, as never before, the ‘why not’ of 
worldly pleasures. Anna Gardner is gradually sink- 
ing. The doctor has told her that it is only a question 
of time ; but she is resigned and happy. She has made 
the best of life, and knows that something better 
awaits her; but poor Edith is so wedded to a good 
time she can not form any idea of happiness without 
gayety, and the very thought of death is horrible to 
her.” 

There was great anxiety in the Harland home, for 
Edith did not get stronger as the days grew cooler. 
She recovered from the severe attack of pneumonia, 
but was never her strong, bright self again. When the 
hot days came, she would lie on the lounge most of 
the time, taking little interest in her surroundings. 
Her mother took her to Ashland, thinking the fresh 
mountain air would give her darling the strength she 
needed ; but Edith seemed less comfortable there than 
at home. She was so restless that it seemed best to 
bring her home, with the hope that cool weather would 
take away the weariness that made life a burden. At 
times she resented bitterly any suggestion that she 
would not soon be well, and would join Maud in 
planning for a gay winter visiting Lena in Washing- 
ton. Some days she was so sick and miserable she 


120 


Why Not 


would acknowledge to her mother that she was grow- 
ing worse. “It would not be so hard to die,” she 
said, bitterly, “if I had not lost my life for the sake 
of pleasure.” 

“My darling, you might have taken cold at 
church,” replied her mother. “Many have lost their 
lives from staying in overheated, crowded churches, 
and then going out into the cold.” 

“Perhaps; but they have the satisfaction that they 
were at least seeking something good. Cousin Esther 
lost her life by exposure brought on by nursing a 
poor neighbor ; but she died for a noble cause,” sighed 
Edith. 

Mrs. Harland could only kiss her darling, and go 
off and weep bitter tears of regret that she had not 
been more of a tower of strength to her daughters 
during the time they were not well able to choose 
wisely for themselves. Edith was not her only anxi- 
ety, for Charlie was growing farther away from her 
every day. She had insisted that he be brought up 
without restraint, and now there was no way to com- 
pel him to stay at home of evenings, and she trembled 
in thinking of the places he might enter when with 
Harold Porter. Charlie had refused the college course 
his father had offered, but was beginning a business 
life with a friend in the city, and there was hope that 
he would become interested in earning his living. But 
the mother's most anxious thoughts were about her 
beautiful daughter Maud. There was hope that Edith 
might get well in time ; but Maud was certainly choos- 
ing future wretchedness in insisting on marrying Mr. 
Irving. Even the father saw that it was a hopeless 


Choosing for One World 


121 


matter now ; for he knew his determined daughter well 
enough to realize that marriage without his consent 
would not be a matter of regret to Maud. It seemed 
better to keep her affections and try and help her, now 
it was too late to avert the terrible risk she determined 
to take. There was a time when it might have been 
stopped; but the parents did not know that Maud 
often met the young man at the Porter home. Later 
he sent flowers and fruit and books to the invalid, and 
began calling to inquire about her health. 

“You need not worry, papa,” Mrs. Harland said. 
“Maud knows of the scandal of his past life, and that 
he is much older than she, and not educated. He has 
nothing but money. You need not fear our Maud 
caring for a horse-jockey.” 

“You ’ve been so absorbed in Edith, you have not 
noticed how infatuated Maud is with that rascal,” 
sighed the father. “Of course, other things being 
equal, I would rather my girls would have riches than 
poverty ; but I would rather bury Maud than have her 
marry a man known to be one of the fast men of the 
city.” 

Maud would not hear a word against Mr. Irving. 
She declared it was all slander, and she wondered such 
good people as her parents would listen to such things. 
He had explained everything satisfactorily to her, and 
she loved him and meant to marry him. When he had 
held out the temptation of an extended bridal trip 
through Europe or around the world, Maud had 
thought little of the true nature of marriage. She 
had read so many novels where at least a prince was 
presented to the heroine, she could not think of an 


122 


Why Not 


ordinary man who had to work for his daily bread. 
She knew of a poor young bank clerk who could offer 
her the devotion of a noble Christian heart, and the 
opportunity of doing her own work in a small rented 
house; but she never thought of love compensating 
for the pleasant things that would have to be re- 
nounced if she became the wife of a poor man. She 
had never taken religion very deeply into her calcu- 
lations; so whether or not it was right to join herself 
for life to one who did not believe in Christ did not 
suggest itself. She was happy in the fact that her 
diamond ring was the most costly in Rockville, and 
after she had won a reluctant consent from her parents 
she was full of triumph over her brilliant prospects, 
though her heart often had anxious forebodings over 
her sick sister. 

Another Rockville young woman made an im- 
portant decision about that time. There had been 
much disturbance over Lena in the early summer. 
She had many admirers of a certain kind, mostly those 
who took an interest in her father’s bank account; 
but she treated them all with indifference. There was 
but one thing that seemed to give her positive pleasure 
during the spring months, and that was the Theatrical 
Club organized for “sweet charity’s” sake, and carried 
on for the pleasure of its members. Lena’s parents 
were proud of her success there ; for on the stage she 
lost her languid air, and was sprightly and full of 
grace, her pretty face and sweet voice always giving 
her a leading part. Mrs. Porter often remarked, while 
she would never allow a child of hers to go on the 
stage, no matter how talented, there could not be any 


Choosing for One World 


123 


possible harm in young people entertaining their 
friends with little parlor dramas, and that she was glad 
her daughter had this power of impersonation, and 
could so often turn it towards increasing some benev- 
olent collection. 

She little dreamed what a hold the drama had 
upon her daughter, until the judge came in one morn- 
ing with a face white with anger and a letter in his 
hands. 

“Look here, Kate, what I have found/’ he said. 
“Lena has a correspondent of whom we have not 
heard, and some low theater scamp at that.” 

Mrs. Porter took the letter, and read with increas- 
ing agitation : 

“My Darung, — I read in the Gazette of your great 
hit in your last play. You are a born actress, and 
with your lovely face and charming voice you would 
soon make your fame and fortune on the stage, if you 
would trust your talents to my care. I live for the 
day each week when I get a glimpse of your sweet 
face and hear your dear voice. If you knew how I 
live on the thought of your presence you would come 
often. The hope that you will some time be mine 
is all that makes the present bearable. 

“Your devoted, CivARSNCS .” 

“Your accursed plays have made the child stage- 
struck, and now she is infatuated with some low actor,” 
groaned the father. 

Mrs. Porter was too stunned to defend herself or 
to think what course to pursue; so she sat helpless, 
while her husband did the worst possible thing, called 
his daughter, and in withering tones demanded what 


124 


Why Not 


the letter meant he had found in the summer-house. 
Lena bad always been a gentle girl, easily fright- 
ened by a word of censure; but under her father's 
storm of wrath she drew herself up, no longer a child, 
but a defiant woman. 

“Since you have been so good as to read a private 
letter, I will tell you that Clarence is an actor in the 
best theater in Cincinnati. I met him by accident with 
Monsieur De Failles, and he introduced us. He 
boards near the Conservatory, and I often see him. 
As for his being an actor, I can not see why it is worse 
to do that as an artist would paint for art's sake, than 
for the young men here to do it merely to pass away 
the time. Anyway he loves me, and, what is more, I 
love him." When Lena had finished this little speech 
in a very tragical manner, Mrs. Porter sank back in 
her cushions, too heartbroken for words, while the 
father walked up and down threatening a convent, and 
saying all kinds of hard things to his daughter, now 
as angry as he. The music lessons were stopped at 
once, and Lena was not allowed to go to the city, even 
for shopping. She bore it all in sullen silence, and at 
last promised her mother to give up the actor. As a 
reward, the whole family took a trip to California, re- 
turning through Mexico and enjoying all the attrac- 
tions offered to tourists in the West or in the pictur- 
esque old country. Lena tried her best to take an 
interest in the plans for her entertainment; but she 
was continually thinking of the handsome young man, 
who, she feared, was grieving his heart out for her, 
and thinking her untrue. She often wondered why 
actors were less to be respected than the people who 


Choosing for One Worla 


125 


flocked to see them, and that if she were a good, 
obedient daughter her father might not in time consent 
to her marrying Clarence, and would set him up in 
some business in keeping with the station she was now 
in. With this new hope in her heart, Lena was often 
by her father’s side, and he became very fond of her 
again, and both of the anxious parents rejoiced that 
their darling had escaped a great danger, and was 
becoming her old happy self. 

But it was all acting on Lena’s part, and she was 
heartily glad when the farce was over and the long 
homeward journey was finished. It was a strange 
happening, and one the silly girl took as providential, 
that the first person who spoke to her in Cincinnati 
was Clarence Earl. The mother had some shopping 
to do, and, seeing that Lena looked tired, advised 
her to wait in the Grand parlor while she was gone. 

Lena wandered wearily from one parlor to another, 
wishing her mother would come, until she found her- 
self in a curtained alcove. Seeing a gentleman was 
writing a letter there she was about to withdraw, when 
the young man caught sight of her face in a mirror, 
and sprang to her side. 

“Lena !” 

“Clarence !” 

In the ardent greeting from the young man the 
girl forgot all of her promises and good resolutions. 

In the hurried conversation that followed, Mr. 
Earl explained that he had just closed a fine engage- 
ment with a New York company, and he was in a 
position to support her well. If she wished she could 
learn to act with the best of instruction, or she could 
9 


126 


Why Not 


be as idle as a pet kitten if that suited her better. She 
happened to have the checks ; so her trunks could go 
with her. He must leave in a few hours, as all his 
things were at the station. There was time to have 
the necessary papers made out, and he knew a minister 
who would marry them. When they wrote back they 
were married, and her parents found it was too late 
to make objections, they would forgive them; and if 
they still objected to his profession he would willingly 
change it, and they would settle down quietly and be 
happy in the old regulation way. Lena hesitated. 
She knew it was cruel to reward the kindness of this 
long pleasure trip by running away at its close with 
the man she had been taken from; yet she knew, as 
Clarence urged, that this was the only way of their 
ever seeing each other again. 

“Are you happy, love, without me ?” he asked, ten- 
derly. 

“No ; I am miserable,” the poor girl acknowledged. 
“I am tired of being watched like a dog.” 

“Darling, come with me,” pleaded the actor, with 
fine dramatic effect. “You shall be free as air, and 
yet carefully sheltered. You shall have all the attrac- 
tions of New York. Your parents do not love you as 
I do, or your happiness would be their first thought. 
As it is, you see they do not care that you are break- 
ing down with this trouble.” 

This struck Lena’s selfish little heart in the right 
place. If they loved her at home they would desire 
her happiness, even if they did not quite approve of 
her way of getting it. As they did not love her they 
would not miss her much, and Clarence would be un- 


Choosing for One World 


127 


done if she forsook him now. She held out her hand 
in an impulse of trusting love, and before she realized 
the situation she was whirling across the river in a 
carriage. Clarence assured her that everything was 
done to make sure the legality of the marriage. She 
stood trembling before a strange minister, and made 
responses when the right time came, still like one in 
a dream. There was a hasty supper at the restaurant, 
and then they were soon on the eastern-bound train. 
Lena’s first thought was one of relief that she was 
free, and her heart became calm again as her com- 
panion whispered words of loving devotion, and as- 
sured her he would soon make it all right with her 
parents. She had so long been trained to think first 
of herself, that she did not give much thought to the 
sorrow and anxiety there was in her old home at that 
present moment; but gave herself up to dreams of a 
happy future, when she and Clarence would be settled 
in a home of their own near the parental mansion. 

When Mrs. Porter returned after an unexpected 
delay and found Lena had gone, she thought she had 
taken the homebound train at the hour they had ex- 
pected to meet the judge at the depot. For this 
reason the runaway couple had time to get out of the 
city before the judge discovered that his daughter did 
not return with his wife. Pie took the first train back 
to the city to institute search, and had no difficulty in 
finding that Clarence Earl left Cincinnati at a certain 
hour. While he was preparing to follow on the next 
train, he accidentally came across some one who had 
seen the actor and heard him say he was married. 
This so incensed the father, that he went home on the 


128 


Why Not 


midnight train and told his wife his daughter was 
dead to him, and her name must never be mentioned 
again in his presence. The broken-hearted mother 
made many efforts to find out something about her 
daughter ; but after indisputable evidence of the legal- 
ity of the marriage, providing he had a right to marry, 
she could find nothing. Clarence Earl evidently had 
more than one name, and he was lost in the great 
metropolis under some other title. 

Mrs. Porter could only wait in silence until her 
husband’s indignation should subside and he under- 
take a thorough search for the missing daughter. 
Mrs. Porter had to keep her place in society for po- 
litical reasons, and only the increasing threads of silver 
in the dark hair and the lines deepening on the hand- 
some face showed how the mother heart suffered. 


CHAPTER Xm 


Choosing for Two Worlds 

“MOW you must rest, darling.” 

* ^ “I will rest after awhile,” answered Anna 
Gardner, with a sweet smile. “It is such a blessing to 
be able to help others to the last. See, I have arranged 
the work of the Juniors for Margaret, for she is to 
take it; and she is so busy in school these days, I 
must make it as easy as I can. I have so enjoyed 
working with children here, I should not be surprised 
if that would be my work in my other home to which 
I am going.” 

“I should think it might well be, for no doubt each 
one has the occupation there he or she loves best,” 
answered the mother. 

Although every word spoken that reminded her of 
the separation that must come pierced her heart to 
the core, Mrs. Gardner had schooled herself to talk 
and think of Anna’s going away as she might have 
done regarding a journey to some beautiful foreign 
country. 

“You had expected to do without me for two years 
of study in music abroad,” Anna said one day. “Let 
us look at this change as my going off to study and 
improve myself and enjoy more than here, the only 
difference that you will come to me some day instead 
of my going to you.” 


129 


130 


Why Not 


Ah, that is the difference ! The waiting in vain for 
the return of the dear face — 

“ For the touch of a vanished hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still.” 

The Gardner family were walking through this 
world, not by the dim light of reason, but the glorious 
light of faith, and the impending loss and sorrow was 
met with resignation, and every one determined to 
make Anna’s last days as happy as possible. It had 
been hard at first when the disease took a fatal turn ; 
for Anna was young and full of ambition, and no one 
had more promise of a bright and useful life. The 
slight lung difficulty, which had troubled her occa- 
sionally, at last seemed to be sapping her life away, 
and after every remedy had been used and earnest 
prayer had been made for recovery in vain, Anna felt 
sure that her life-work was over, and she began cheer- 
fully to plan to leave it into the hands of others. 

About a mile from Rockville there was a large 
brickyard, where a number of families from the poor 
whites of the South had settjed. They were what their 
neighbors called ‘‘shiftless.” Certainly they worked 
only when occasion required. They were ignorant in 
the extreme, and immoral to the degree that they 
were shunned by the whole community. But Anna 
Gardner was deeply touched by their poverty of body 
and soul, and visited them with her mother when there 
was sickness, which was often caused by the careless 
way in which they lived. Three summers before, Anna 
had persuaded the children to come to an empty 
schoolhouse near, and had taught them to read and 


Choosing for Two Worlds 13 1 

write. The next summer she had her school in a large, 
airy room in Mr. Gardner's stable, twenty or thirty 
children walking two miles in the heat to have instruc- 
tion from their beloved teacher. This summer she had 
a few of the more advanced children meet her in her 
own dining-room ; but she did not have strength to 
continue the school long. She had the satisfaction of 
knowing that the parents now wished their children 
to learn to read and write, and had begun to send them 
to the district school near. Others had become inter- 
ested through Anna's efforts ; so the despised settle- 
ment would have many helpers now, all the more 
because the gentle missionary had to give up the work. 
Anna had been an active worker in her Church, in 
the young people's society, the young ladies' mission- 
ary band, and the children's society. In all this work 
she planned a substitute, and had the satisfaction of 
knowing that nothing lagged because she lay down 
to rest. To one of her friends who was a Christian, 
but never would take any part in Church work, she 
wrote : 

‘‘My Dear Lilian, — Please take my place in our 
young people's prayer-meeting and on the Lookout 
Committee. You have never taken part in our meet- 
ings ; but I am going to ask you to do it in my place, 
so I will not be missed. I believe I would be happier 
even in heaven, if I could be sure my going away 
had made some one care more about the other world. 

“Your own loving Anna." 

This message changed a half-hearted Christian 
into an earnest worker. 

Anna's room became a Bethel to her friends. Some 


132 


Why Not 


days she suffered greatly, and then she had to be 
alone; but her happy faith never left her. She would 
say with a smile : “If the way home were easier, I 
would not cling so closely to my Guide. In these 
days of fellowship with his sufferings, of learning what 
anguish means, I feel I am carried very close in the 
Shepherd’s arms. I say over and over again, 

‘ Safe in the arms of Jesus, 

Safe on his gentle breast.* 

Sometimes I get perfect freedom from pain in answer 
to prayer, and again I am carried through the pain, 
and I do n’t know which experience is the sweetest.” 

After these times of suffering Anna would have 
days when she could walk into the sitting-room or 
lie out on the shady veranda. Then she wanted the 
girls to come, and they flocked around her, she inter- 
ested in all their good times, and yet making them feel 
by her shining face and occasional word, that she was 
giving them something of the beautiful world towards 
which she was going. 

Some of her friends wondered how she could be 
so interested in the gayety of that summer. “Why 
not?” she would say, with a happy laugh. “I have 
had rides and boating parties and picnics, and I am 
glad the rest of you are enjoying them. It did me so 
much good to have the city girls here a few weeks. 
Even days when I could not ride out with them, I 
was so glad the rest of you made them have a good 
time. I love to hear any one laugh as they pass my 
window; for then I know some one is forgetting the 
shadows, and looking towards the sunlight. I am so 


Choosing for Two Worlds 


i33 


thankful that none of my pleasures have left a sting. 
They were all the kind I could ask Jesus to bless. 
Do n’t you think that is a safe guide, the motto our 
Sunshine Circle has, ‘For His sake/ Margaret?” Anna 
asked, one midsummer day. 

“Yes, dear,” answered Margaret. “There is noth- 
ing quite as precious to me as our King’s Daughters. 
Often have I found so many things to do ‘for His 
sake / but it was you who first made us realize that we 
could take the pleasures of life ‘for His sake.’ There 
is something I have been wanting to talk to you 
about ; but some way I could n’t tell even mamma. 
Now she is away when I need to talk it over with 
some one, and I have come to you.” 

“I ’ve noticed, Margie, you had something on your 
mind. I know Nannie has been a great care. I ’ve 
had the enjoyment of the fresh-air visitors without the 
worry. Mine needed eating and sleeping and riding 
out more than entertainment.” 

This was in August, after most of the city visitors 
had gone, and before Mrs. King had returned, and 
Margaret was having a very busy time. 

“Come, ’fess, darling, I am sure it ’s more than 
hard work that makes you look pale this morning. Is 
it Mr. Stevens, Margie?” 

There was color enough in Margaret’s face as she 
answered : “That is what is troubling me, Anna. You 
know he has been out often this summer. He likes 
to drive out, and he has been very helpful. He has 
taken this one and that one riding in his easy phaeton, 
and he has sent fruit and new books ; and, best of all, 
has taken it upon himself to pay the salaries for sub- 


134 


Why Not 


stitutes when a girl needed longer rest than her em- 
ployer desired, and he has helped poor families, so 
those at home would not suffer because some of their 
number had a rest. It is hard to believe that such a 
generous man is not a Christian/' and Margaret sighed 
deeply. “And he loves my beautiful, strong darling/' 
said the sick girl, wistfully. For a moment it seemed 
hard to renounce the kind of happiness that was com- 
ing to her dearest friend. In answer Margaret buried 
her face in the pillows, and sobbed like a child. Anna 
let her cry until she had found relief, only stroking the 
soft brown hair, and dropping tender kisses on the 
flushed forehead. At last Margaret lifted her tear- 
stained face, and smiled faintly. 

“It is your own fault that I am selfish enough to 
pour my troubles over you in a rain of tears, for you 
are sympathy itself. While I knew Mr. Stevens cared 
for me very much as a friend, I honestly did not know 
until lately what it meant to him, or to myself for that 
matter. He has been about as attentive to Cherry, 
and I have been so busy over Paul, and then Nannie, 
that I have just taken his devotion to our family as a 
matter of course. And, O Anna, he is so superior to 
the other young men, he has been such a delightful 
friend. It is not that he is fine-looking, or that he 
is highly educated and has the charm of good breed- 
ing; but he is so sincere, that even his faults do not 
seem as serious as they ought to me.” 

“But he is not a Christian. His life purpose is 
utterly different from yours/' said Anna, slowly. 

“That is the trouble, Anna," answered Margaret. 
“My first thought was that he was good enough any 


Choosing for Two Worlds 


i35 


way, and my second that it might be my work to lead 
him to Christ; but after he had asked me to be his 
wife, it seemed a dreadful thing to live in such close 
union with any one, and yet be silent about the things 
nearest my heart.” 

“And you love him, darling ?” was the next ques- 
tion. 

There was no need for words when Margaret 
turned her glowing, downcast face towards her friend. 

“When God sends such love as you could give a 
man, can any one forbid it?” asked Anna, as if in 
doubt. 

“I thought of that at first, and could not reply until 
I had thought it over prayerfully. I did not write to 
mamma, or go to you or Cherry, about this one point. 
I knew you were all satisfied in other ways with Mr. 
Stevens; but I felt whether or not it was right for a 
Christian girl to marry an unbeliever ought to be set- 
tled by herself, between herself and God. He does not 
even believe that the atonement is necessary. He 
thinks there is goodness enough in the human heart 
to lift it above the temptations of this world. Of 
course, he takes very little of the Bible.” 

“And you decided to wait, darling,” Anna said, 
anxiously; “for how could any one trust a man who 
would not trust the Word of God?” 

“No; that might not be just to him, for it would 
hold out a hope I might marry him after awhile as he 
is, so I gave him up entirely. God gave me my being. 
I belong to him before I belong to any one else. I 
know, brought up as I have been, I could not be 
happy in a home where Christ was not honored. 


136 


Why Noi 


Some women lead husbands to Christ after marriage ; 
but I have noticed that more husbands get wives out 
of the Church. I am no Katrina. I would not be 
able to be an earnest Christian, and have one I loved 
as my life thinking and talking the other way. I could 
not feel right to eat with no blessing on the food, or 
begin the day with no prayer in the home. Then Mr. 
Stevens believes in amusements I think harmful. They 
would be for me, I am sure. I believe the social life 
he enjoys so much keeps him from the Church. Per- 
haps he thinks he is sincere in believing the Bible is 
only a book of ethics. Anyway, he does not feel the 
need of a Savior as I do.” 

“Margaret, you have acted wisely,” said Anna. “I 
am sure Christian girls are not perfectly happy with 
husbands who want things in the home that the wife 
does not approve of. Mamma says God intends that 
there be perfect union in heart and soul in marriage, 
and this would not be that. O darling, keep close to 
Jesus, no matter what else you lose ! The time will 
come, as it has to me, when that faith is all that is left 
to you.” 

Margaret kissed her friend’s white forehead, her 
own face growing sweet with a noble purpose. 

“If it is God’s gift for you, it can not be lost. He 
will be led into the light, and will be yours some day,” 
said Anna, hopefully. 

Margaret slipped away comforted. She was glad 
that her friend had confirmed what she knew to be her 
duty. When the secret was told to the mother, she 
took poor Margaret in her arms and said : “This is a 
hard trial for you, my child, and hard for Mr. Stevens, 


Choosing for Two Worlds 


137 


who would have been my choice for you if he had 
been a Christian. The difference between a Christian 
and a mere moral man is far greater than a young 
girl can estimate. Many men who derive their 
strength from mere moral force of character go down 
under temptation, or become cold and indifferent to 
their wives in time. The only sure foundation for 
human love is that that is founded on Christ’s love.” 

“ Life is only bright when it proceedeth 
Towards a truer, deeper life above ; 

Human love is sweetest when it leadeth 
To a more divine and perfect love,’ , 

quoted Margaret. 

“That is true, daughter. Wait until you can have 
that kind of love, and you will never regret it.” 

“I will, mother, and do n’t think me unhappy. My 
school work will soon keep me busy, and both Edith 
and Anna like to have me with them as much as pos- 
sible,” answered Margaret. 

The summons came suddenly to Edith. Hers had 
been anything but a sunny sickroom. She had no 
memories of a life devoted to others to cheer her as 
Anna had. Edith could not help envying Maud, who 
was very radiant over Mr. Irving’s attentions and the 
costly gifts he showered upon her. At last Edith 
loosened her grasp on earth’s treasures, as a tired 
child gives up his playthings when he sees his hands 
can hold them no longer. She had faith enough not 
to miss the hand of the Good Shepherd ; but she sent 
back no word of triumph to comfort the heart-broken 
family. Her going away seemed like the blasting of 


Why Not 


138 

a lily by an untimely frost. No one thought of the 
sweet young girl as not being quite ready for the 
heavenly life. 

Nothing could have been more beautiful than 
Anna’s home-going. For days she had been hovering 
near the gates, and barefooted children had come with 
late wild-flowers or apples begged from some orchard, 
and asked to see Miss Anna just once more. And all 
had been granted a word and smile from the happy 
sufferer. One rough teamster came to the back door 
and asked for Mr. Gardner. 

“Please, sir, is n’t there jest some little thing ye ’d 
be lettin’ me do for the poor darlint?” he asked, 
brokenly. “She never forgot to speak to me when I 
was haulin’ stun on the street.” 

“Yes, we want to lift her on the couch for a while,” 
answered the father, who always claimed that privilege 
himself. 

“I ’d be mighty glad to do it,” said the man. 

Mr. Gardner went to Anna’s room, and returned, 
saying, “My daughter says it would be a pleasure to 
her to have you lift her.” 

The rough man lifted the white-robed figure ten- 
derly, and laid her down so softly there was not a jar, 
she looking like a white lily leaning against an oak 
while in his arms. He insisted on waiting in the hall 
until the bed was prepared for the night and the young 
lady ready to go back. Then he lifted her in the same 
reverent way. 

“Thank you, Mr. Wagner. You are so strong you 
can lift me beautifully,” she whispered, holding out 
her white hand. “Meet me in heaven, won’t you ?” 


Choosing for T<wo Worlds 


139 


The man pressed the little hand to his lips, and 
went out with tears streaming down his face. 

One October afternoon Anna had been propped 
up by the window for a breath of the soft air outside. 
She had had paroxysms of intense suffering that day, 
but was now resting, free from pain. Just at sunset 
she called the members of the family around her, and 
gave each a message of love. 

“I am only going home,” she said. “The room is 
full of angels ; brothers and sisters who went so long 
ago are here to welcome me. Do n’t cry, mamma. 
I ’m so happy, washed in the blood of the Lamb.” 

No one knew just when the happy spirit fled, so 
gentle was the loosening of the silver cord. On the 
face was a radiance not made by any earthly light. 
The look of rapture faded into one of peace and per- 
fect content. She had lived for heaven, and had come 
to her own. 


CHAPTER XIV 


An Unexpected Trouble 

HERRY had returned for her Thanksgiving 
vacation, and was eagerly waiting for her father’s 
return from the mill. The air was laden with odors 
suggestive of mince-pie, fresh cake, and other prepa- 
rations for the Thanksgiving feast, for this was the 
year that the family dinner was given at the King 
home. The family, including Paul and Nannie, made 
a large circle around the glowing grate, and almost 
overwhelmed Mr. King with welcome as he came in. 

“Papa, you look sick,” Cherry remarked, as she 
kissed her father, while Margaret took his overcoat. 

“Bring papa right out. The muffins are on the 
table,” came from the dining-room in Mrs. King’s 
cheery voice. “Why, John, dear, what has made you 
so tired ?” she asked, as the father entered the dining- 
room with the two youngest hanging on his arms. 

“I ’ll tell you after supper,” replied Mr. King. 

It was not the usual merry time ; for Mr. King was 
quiet, and did not seem to relish the delicacies gotten 
up for Cherry’s benefit. 

“Now tell us all about it,” the mother said after 
Nannie had brought the dressing-gown and Ruth the 
warm slippers, and the weary man was made comfort- 
able in the big arm-chair. 

“When I realize how rich I am in those who love 
me, I ought to forget the rest ; but you must all know 
140 


An Unexpected Trouble 


141 

now that I am a ruined man financially, for Mr. Hud- 
son has gone off and taken all the money we had, and 
left more debts in the name of the firm than I could 
cover if I gave up the very clothes we have on.” 

“Is it as bad as that?” gasped Mrs. King. 

“I have n’t a thing I can call my own/’ groaned 
the man. 

“Have n’t you got me ?” asked Tommy, anxiously. 

“Yes, thank God! I have my wife and children, so 
I am still well off. You know, children, except this 
home, which grandpa gave your mother, all I have 
is invested in the factory. The greater part of the 
plant belongs to a young man who has a branch of 
the business in Chicago. Mr. Hudson owned about as 
much stock as I, and the business has always been 
carried on under the name of Hudson & King. I 
lately found that Hudson had been speculating, and 
had not settled for wool, for which he had drawn 
money from the firm. But there was a payment of 
four thousand dollars that came in, and with that, and 
what was on hands, we were to pay our heaviest cred- 
itor, and send Mr. Nelson what was due him. My 
family is so generous about letting the money stay in 
the business, Hudson is apt to be in my debt, as his 
family could spend many times his portion, and not 
care. Mr. Hudson went to the city yesterday with 
our money, and instead of settling up our accounts 
he borrowed more in the name of the firm, and dis- 
appeared, leaving other personal debts in the name 
of the firm. We have telegraphed in every direction; 
but can find no trace of him. The Eastern firm has 

sent for its money, and I suppose Nelson will do the 
10 


142 


Why Not 


same, and take all I have. I am too old to begin any 
other way to support my family.” 

“Father, we will not let the factory stop,” said 
Cherry, brightly. “The men need their wages, now 
that winter is coming on. The market is good, I have 
heard you say, and we can surely satisfy our creditors 
and borrow money of Mr. Nelson, and keep on. I 
can just as well graduate later, and I will take Mr. 
Hudson’s place at the desk, and you can go on with 
the buying and selling as usual.” 

“My dear, we will transfer this place at once to 
your creditors, and rent a cheaper house until we can 
afford this,” said the wife, with a faint smile. 

“I can take the bookkeeper’s place and save his 
salary,” said Paul. “I would like a chance to show 
you about how much I owe you.” 

“I will take the situation the doctor offered me 
until we are straight again,” said Robert. 

“I will turn my salary into feeding the family, in- 
stead of saving part of it for a trip to Europe,” said 
Margaret. 

“I ’ll do Mollie’s work, so you won’t have to pay a 
hired girl, and I ’ll make candy sometimes when I 
get the dinner done,” was Ruth’s offer, which brought 
down the house, as she hated to work. 

“I ’ll go to that prison school, so I won’t take any 
of your money. It ’s all I can do for you, mamma,” 
said the adopted child, with a sob. 

“Indeed you won’t,” they all cried, for with her 
faults still in evidence they all loved bright, generous 
Nannie. 

Mrs. King put her arm around Nannie, and drew 


An Unexpected Trouble 


H3 


her so close the little girl knew she was to stay and 
share the fortunes of the rest, and she smiled through 
her tears, and thought she would never do anything 
again to try the patience of that kind woman, who 
made her no longer an orphan. 

“It is worth failing in business to know what a 
noble wife and children I have, although I was sure 
of it before,” said Mr. King. “Your mother has 
trained you to live for the best things of life, so losing 
the luxuries will not seem as hard as it would for 
some. Of course, mamma could keep the home.” 

“No, it would be impossible for her to be dis- 
honest,” said Margaret. 

“This blow has quite unnerved me,” Mr. King 
said, putting his hand to his head wearily. “I will 
have to take Paul and Cherry out of school for the 
rest of the term, as no stranger would do just now, 
and you both have helped me occasionally in the office. 
I begin to feel that we will pull through.” 

“I will show you, sir, that it pays to educate a 
daughter,” and Cherry choked something down that 
came up in her throat, when she thought of leaving 
college without her coveted diploma. 

Margaret looked more troubled than the rest. For 
a moment she wondered if she were right in letting 
conscience determine her life-course, rather than the 
longings of her own heart. How easily she might 
have been in a position where she could have helped 
her father. Her mother saw what was passing in her 
mind, and said as she kissed her good-night : “I am 
glad our strong, brave Margaret is with us. Her 
presence is more than money to us now.” 


144 


Why Not 


The Thanksgiving dinner had to be gone through 
with, even if there was not much merriment in the 
occasion for the King family. The dinner was already 
provided for, so it was in keeping with past prosperity 
instead of future want, and all the guests came, al- 
though the morning paper had a sensational account 
of “Failure, A Rascal Escapes,” etc. 

“I will take Ruth and bring her up as my own, 
and make her my heir,” was Cousin Hannah’s gener- 
ous offer before she left for her own home. 

“No, Hannah, we have no children to spare,” an- 
swered Ruth’s mother, quickly. “Now that it will be 
a struggle to support so many for my husband’s sake 
I would give up Nannie, if you would be a mother to 
her.” 

“No, I think too much of the family name, which, 
thank heaven ! is not yet blemished. You never know 
what disgrace a child from the people might bring 
upon you,” answered the aristocratic old lady. 

“Then we will keep her. I would not think of giv- 
ing her up unless there was some one who would do 
more for her than I can. She should be better taken 
care of than children who may not have temptations 
from inherited tendencies to evil,” said Mrs. King. 

The next afternoon Nannie came in with some- 
thing in her hand, and a very queer expression on her 
face. 

“Mamma,” she said, for she had been allowed the 
privilege of that sweet name for several months, 
“don’t your hair belong to your very own self? 
Could n’t you pull it or do anything you wanted to 
with it?” 


An Unexpected Trouble 


i45 


“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Mrs. King. She was 
already troubled about making both ends meet. Mol- 
lie was to leave that day; but there was no money to 
pay her two weeks’ wages that were due. 

“I thought they were my own, so I sold my curls 
to help you. See here, and she poured three crisp 
five-dollar bills and five silver dollars into Mrs. King’s 
lap. 

“O Nannie, have you given up your lovely curls?” 
cried Mrs. King, catching the little girl in her arms, 
and kissing the closely-cropped head that appeared 
when the red hood came off. “How kind of you, only 
I hate to take the money. What made you think 
of it?” 

“I heard Mrs. Height telephoning to the city about 
getting curls for her little girl, who lost all of her hair 
when she was sick, and I went up and asked if mine 
would do. ‘Yes, indeed,’ she said, ‘it ’s just the color. 
I expected to pay thirty dollars for what I wanted. I 
will give you twenty and have them made up.’ When 
my hair grows long I want it braided like Ruth’s, 
’cause she ’s praying for a fever so her hair will come 
in curly, and if it did n’t she would think God did n’t 
care,” said Nannie, soberly, for she dearly loved curls 
herself. 

“Ruth must not ask God for foolish things. He 
will not give them to her any sooner than I ; but I 
thank my other little daughter for giving me this 
help. It will get me out of several difficulties.” 

The word “daughter” fully repaid Nannie for sac- 
rificing her beauty, and she went away very happy. 

Mr. King did not recover at once from the nervous 


146 


Why Not 


shock of losing all without warning, and for several 
weeks Paul and Cherry took charge of the business 
as best they could. Mr. Nelson came, and, although 
he was a keen business man, Cherry found he had a 
kind heart, and was willing to give Mr. King an oppor- 
tunity to go on with the business. 

“I have a good foreman, and there is no reason why 
things should not go on as usual if you are satisfied 
to take a mortgage on our home for what is lacking 
after papa’s stock has been turned over to you.” 

“I will make any arrangement and stand back of 
the enterprise,” replied Mr. Nelson. “It is a surprise 
to me that a young woman can manage a business 
like this.” 

“Papa has had us all help him at different times, 
and has explained all of the details of the business,” 
answered Cherry, soberly. “It is his thedry that we 
should take pleasure in being useful. I have made a 
contract that I want you to examine and sign. I had 
to take it on my own responsibility; but I think it is 
a good order.” 

“Excellent,” replied the business man, looking over 
the papers. “I will not say again that the modern 
young lady is fit only for society.” 

Cherry had plenty of opportunity to prove her 
business qualities, for her father was in poor health for 
some months. Although he was soon at the office, 
he had to let Cherry do much of the planning. She 
proved herself equal to it, though she found the little 
office almost unbearable at times with its heat and 
odor from the mill. But this room soon showed the 
womanly presence that dominated it, for it was now 


An Unexpected Trouble 


i47 


always clean and well ventilated, and blooming plants 
in the windows made a dash of color in the dullness. 
Afterwards a few engravings were hung and a strip 
of bright carpet laid on the floor, and this office was 
called the “mill parlor.” Cherry’s plans soon perme- 
ated the whole establishment. She found a room that 
could be spared for the girls for the noon-time, and 
here she put a few rocking-chairs and a lounge, where 
the young women could rest, away from the sound of 
wheels and the odor of steam. She got a stove, so 
they could make their own cup of tea or coffee. It 
ended in there being a place where a cup of tea or 
coffee could be had for actual cost, which was less 
than the mug of beer that seemed so indispensable 
to the men on a cold day. 

“Is this business or philanthropy?” Mr. Nelson 
asked, when he noted the changes for the betterment 
of the employees. 

“Strictly business,” answered Cherry, showing her 
dimples. “While there have been strikes all around 
us, there has not been a complaint here. I heard only 
yesterday that one lazy fellow said, with a woman spy- 
ing round here, and his wife bossing him at home, he 
had n’t a moment to call his own ; but for all that* he 
does a half more than formerly, I am told. Not less 
work; in fact, I make the foreman be more exacting 
as to quantity and quality; but as good hours as we 
can possibly give, and as much regard for their health 
and comfort as we can show, makes them satisfied to 
give us honest returns for our wages. Those papers 
and magazines are picked up for a few minutes with 
great interest, and are far better employment than the 


148 


Why Not 


gossip and rough stories you might expect when they 
all have a little spare time. ,, 

“I never saw things in better condition, 1 ” admitted 
Mr. Nelson. “Only you must find such hard work 
a great bore. You are at the time of life when young 
girls care more for pleasure than anything else.” 

“I do,” laughed Cherry. “I have read some from 
John Stuart Mill, in my study of ethics, if you care 
to hear me recite, and I hold to desire anything, except 
in proportion as the idea of it is pleasant, is a physical 
and metaphysical impossibility. I desire the improve- 
ment of this business and the happiness of our work- 
ing people, so it is pleasure to work for it.” 

“Yes, of course. A miser takes pleasure in gaining 
wealth, or a farmer in getting land at any sacrifice to 
himself ; still you are giving up certain things, college 
for instance, that you would enjoy more than the work 
here. Do you always find pleasure in every duty that 
comes to you, even if it cuts across the grain of some 
cherished desire?” insisted the young man. 

“I did not use to do so, for I was a girl that dearly 
loved a gay time, and I think gave my parents many 
anxious thoughts a few years ago ; but after I became 
a Christian, the whole purpose of my life was changed. 
I know this sounds like cant. I hate to hear people 
speak lightly of Christ ; but I have found that even the 
hard things can be made pleasures ‘for His sake.' ” 

The young man, who saw the bright glow that 
came on the downcast face, knew this assertion was 
not “cant,” merely a professional phrase that some 
good people had used so carelessly it had almost lost 
its sacred meaning. Here was a healthy, lively young 


An Unexpected Trouble 


149 


woman who had found that she could find real pleas- 
ure in duty, because it was done for the sake of the 
Christ who was the source of life to many earnest 
people. The young man went away very thoughtful 
over this little unexpected sermon. 

“Let me help,, from a different motive,” he said. 
“Here is money to do what you think best for the 
working-girls. I have sisters who are very closely 
sheltered from all that is hard.” 

“Thank you; I will go in with the working-girls 
into a club. They need some safe amusement. The 
mill girls are more neglected than other girls here. 
I want a pleasant room, where they can gather and 
have their own piano, a couple of sewing-machines, 
bright, entertaining books and magazines, refresh- 
ments occasionally, and a teacher ; so if any one wants 
a little more education, she can get it. Then, when 
they feel they must get away from their unattractive 
homes at night they will have a safe place to go.” 

“Good scheme,” answered Mr. Nelson. “Allow me 
to stand back of it financially for a few months, and 
see what will come of it.” 

In the home there was as much prosperity as at 
the factory, if quiet happiness counted for anything. 
It was not an easy matter to get along without the 
faithful domestic, and Margaret often remarked : “I 
will never complain about a servant girl again. How 
much hard work a girl does, and how a matter of fact 
we consider it. I wonder at the good temper Mollie 
showed. Why, I feel like throwing the range down 
the back ravine when the oven won’t bake, and it is 
dreadful to have chapped hands and cut fingers.” 


I 5° 


Why Not 


Poor Margaret found her part of the housework 
very trying. It was necessary for Cherry to get to 
the office early, and Margaret did not have to leave the 
house until half-past eight; so Margaret insisted on 
getting breakfast. Paul built the fire, for it had seemed 
best that Robert should go on with his college work ; 
but he was waiting on a hotel table for his board, so 
was not much expense to the family. 

Margaret got up in a cold room, for coal had to be 
saved, and got breakfast. How she hated the smudge 
of the coal and the odor of frying batter-cakes ! but 
she insisted on doing this work and relieving her 
mother, who had to get dinner alone. The little girls 
washed and wiped — and broke — the dishes. The care 
of the rooms was divided among the different mem- 
bers of the family, though, to be candid, the mother 
did a good deal of sweeping and cleaning not entered 
in the family annals. Cherry got supper, though at 
times when she returned at five o'clock she found 
mother had something prepared. Saturdays, Cherry 
staid until six, and then Margaret came to the front. 
Cherry soon succeeded in getting pay-night changed 
to Monday, and many families had reason to thank 
her ; for the husband did not care so much for a good 
time at the saloon that night, and the money was apt 
to get to the grocery or shoestore, where it had gone 
for a Saturday night spree, with Sunday in reserve 
to sleep it off. 

“Wife, here is a failure reported in a town near 
very much like mine, except the man failed and shot 
himself," Mr. King said one evening, laying down the 
paper and giving his wife an admiring glance as she 


An Unexpected Trouble 15 1 

was struggling to make Tommy’s pants equal to the 
times. 

“The man’s cowardice makes the case beyond com- 
pare,” said Mrs. King, returning the look of love. 

“I do n’t know but there might have been extenu- 
ating circumstances in his mind being unbalanced. 
Extravagant family, the account says. Here my fam- 
ily are all such helpers we are likely to be rich yet.” 

“Ain’t there any more turkeys laid ?” asked 
Tommy, soberly. 

“Bless his heart, he shall have chicken and 
gravy Sunday,” said the fond mother. “We have had 
such a good chance to sell our chickens and eggs it 
seemed best to do without them. Our children never 
knew before what it was to live on plain food.” 

“We have n’t had mince-pie for a long time. I 
guess the folks ate it all up Thanksgiving-day,” sug- 
gested Tommy. 

“We will have one more anyway; but I can’t give 
you pie very often. Boiled meat, and hash, and nice 
potatoes are good for a little boy,” said the mother. 

“Why is it things that are good for a fellow are 
not very nice?” asked Tommy. “The doctor said 
when I ate too much plum-pudding that time that 
castor-oil was good for little boys.” 

“It takes time for us to learn to appreciate our 
medicine,” said Mr. King, with a laugh. 

“But sweet are the uses of adversity,” said Cherry, 
“for Margaret confided to me yesterday that she was 
learning really to enjoy getting up early. I am be- 
ginning to think oatmeal fit for a business young 
woman.” 


152 


Why Not 


“O, we are all having a good time,” said Ruth. 
“It ’s lots nicer to be poor. Nannie and I can lick 
the cake-dish now, and mess in the kitchen, and no- 
body drives us out.” 

“No, in hopes you will wash the dishes,” laughed 
Margaret, looking at her red hands, without a sigh. 

Margaret had gotten an uplift from the copy of a 
picture that hangs in the Louvre. It represents the 
interior of a convent kitchen. Instead of black-robed 
brethren doing the humble work, sweet-faced angels 
were getting the dinner, and doing the most menial 
services. 

“I ’ll have the angels of Content and Patience in 
my kitchen,” Margaret decided, and she found the 
work became a pleasure. She liked to think of those 
days that “Brother Lawrence” found the presence of 
God when a cook in a large kitchen. 


CHAPTER XV 


Reefs in Robert’s Way 

T^Ro CLARK needed Robert in the spring, and he 
had to arrange to study at home and go back to 
college occasionally for examinations. This arrange- 
ment seemed very nice for the family ; for Robert was 
able to help a little in the expenses. He took his turn 
with Paul in “choring” around the house and garden ; 
for with occasional help from the former gardener 
there would be no lack of fresh vegetables and fruit 
before long. The cow was brought home; for Paul 
was willing to milk her, and enough milk was sold 
to pay for her food. 

Dr. Clark had shown great interest in Robert, and 
had paid him most generously for his work. He was 
now putting the finishing touches on a medical work, 
and in this he depended much upon his young assist- 
ant. It was not surprising that the doctor acquired 
a great influence over Robert. Mrs. King found this 
out in several unexpected ways. The first thing that 
struck her unpleasantly was a cigar in her son’s pocket 
when he left his office-coat home to be mended one 
day. If there was one thing above another Mrs. King 
disliked, it was tobacco. She had so often expressed 
her mind that she supposed her opinions on the subject 
would be enough for her son, without exacting any 
promises on the subject. She felt somewhat chagrined 
over this cigar, as she had thought her son was more 
i53 


154 


Why Not 


devoted to her than was common with young men, and 
that her wish was his law. 

“O, the current of outside influences we mothers 
have to battle with !” she thought, as she sewed on 
the ill-smelling coat, and wondered how she could get 
hold of her son in this matter. 

She put the cigar back, and waited until she could 
be sure the occasion was opportune. It soon came. 
She happened on a newspaper article which com- 
mented on the requirements for West Point, and gave 
for a fact the information that young men who had 
not used tobacco passed better examinations mentally 
and physically. 

“That might be true for men who want to fight 
for a living,” responded Robert, dryly. “Dr. Clark 
has been successful enough for me. He has more 
practice than he wants, lectures in medical colleges, 
and writes books ; but he smokes like a kitchen 
chimney. ,, 

“Yes,” admitted his mother. “He is such a large, 
strong man, I suppose if any one could throw off the 
poison he could, as he is out of doors a good deal 
and he has the best of food. Mr. Jones has become a 
paralytic from tobacco, the doctors say. But you can’t 
tell how much better the doctor would be without it. 
I ’ve heard you say yourself that he is absent-minded 
at times.” 

Robert had to acknowledge this ; but said the doc- 
tor had a great deal on his mind. 

“And they say he is very quick-tempered when 
not under the restraint of the sick-room,” went on his 
mother. 


Reefs in Robert's Way 


i55 


Robert laughed as he answered : “He does get 
what the children call ‘hopping mad' sometimes ; but 
he says it ’s his nerves, and between times he is good 
nature itself.” 

“It might be that the tobacco would disturb even 
his nerves, though he uses the very best and least 
poisonous there is. Not every one has his fortune 
to let part of it go up in smoke,” answered the mother. 

“That is an argument, I admit,” said the son, color- 
ing. “I suppose I have n’t any money to burn. But, 
mamma, you have never asked me for a promise about 
tobacco.” 

“No; I relied on your good sense not to use it. 
You have heard enough that it is injurious to health. 
You know that some one gave some to your dog once, 
and it killed him. The expense is a serious matter 
for a young man sacrificing as you do to help your 
father, and to me it is a very offensive habit. I am 
going to ask you to think it over, and see if you can 
not make me a birthday present of a promise to 
abstain even from cigars.” 

“I have only smoked a little at the office, where 
the doctor always passes his cigar-box. He did not 
urge me to take it ; but said it was easier to stand the 
dissecting-room with a cigar, and that his kind were 
not hurtful,” said Robert. 

“I do not doubt smoking is some comfort there; 
but one of the best doctors I ever knew got through 
without it. And you can not buy Dr. Clark’s kind of 
cigars for years, so would have to use more poisonous 
ones. I have known some sick people who would not 
tolerate a doctor that smelt of tobacco.” 


Why Not 


156 


“Your arguments are good enough for Trask him- 
self, said Robert, with a laugh ; “but you are fighting 
clear of the one I expected first, and that one is that 
an earnest Christian should not use tobacco. I ’ve 
been lying in wait with the fact that my Sunday- 
school teacher, one of the most pious of men, and our 
own minister both smoke.” 

“More ’s the pity,” said the mother, with a sigh. 
“Mr. Alcott would be a better Christian and do more 
for you boys, if he were more careful to follow the 
teachings that he gives, for he is a fine Bible scholar. 
He says he began the use of tobacco when so young 
that he fears the result to his health if he quits now. 
As far as the minister is concerned, I have no excuse 
to offer. I am simply sorry such a brilliant man does 
not see that he might have a greater influence here if 
he did not smoke, though as a matter of fact he is 
under no more obligation to live a holy life than you 
are.” 

“I do n’t agree with you,” said the son. “A min- 
ister ought to be an example. If he can’t live up to 
the law and gospel, when it ’s his business , who can ? 
Some of us young people thought when he preached 
so hard against dancing, it was no worse than a min- 
ister making a cigar-holder of himself. And when he 
urged our sacrificing ice-cream and candy for the mis- 
sionary box, one of the boys whispered, ‘What ’s the 
matter of putting his cigar-box in too?’ No, ma’am, 
if a minister can’t get grace to overcome his pet bad 
habits, who can?” 

“You can, my son, and that is all we need concern 
ourselves about now,” the mother said, with a smile. 


Reefs in Robert's Way 


i57 


Robert went of? in a thoughtful mood, and his mother 
said no more about the subject. She had faith in 
God and in her children, so was not surprised on her 
birthday to receive a neat little pledge-card, on which 
was written, “I promise to abstain from every form 
of tobacco, for my mother’s sake. — Robert J. King.” 

The next reef seemed more serious. One day, 
when cleaning Robert’s room, Mrs. King found a book 
by a noted infidel. 

“I thought Robert was straight in every way,” she 
said, taking up the book. Her surprise increased when 
she saw on the flv-leaf, “Robert King, compliments of 
Dr. Clark.” 

Mrs. King neither scolded nor whined over her 
son ; but waited until the time came to use her influ- 
ence against this pernicious book. The opportunity 
came soon ; for Robert happened to be present when 
the children were listening to their Sunday evening 
Bible stories. 

“The children swallow those stories whole, and 
almost feel they had a berth in the ark,” Robert re- 
marked when the younger members of the family had 
retired. 

“Don’t you believe the Bible stories, my son?” 
asked his mother. 

“I can’t quite say that I believe ‘they went into the 
ark two by two, the monkey and the kangaroo,’ ” said 
Robert, lightly. 

Mrs. King turned her head to hide a frown of dis- 
approval, for she did not want to repel her son’s con- 
fidence by exhibiting any feeling she might have about 
his levity. 

11 


158 


Why Not 


“Mamma,” he said, after waiting in vain for a re- 
buke about his irreverence, “do n’t you think Dr. Clark 
a man of good judgment ?” 

“Yes, in medical science/’ she answered. “But 
there are some things he has paid so little attention 
to I should tremble to trust his judgment. Your 
father or our minister would lead you astray in sur- 
gery, for they know nothing about it except what they 
might have heard others say. But take the Bible, for 
instance. They have made it a study from childhood, 
and have been able to investigate some in the original 
text, and understand it as Dr. Clark could not, no 
matter how much he knows in medicine. He has not 
read it much nor experienced what it teaches.” 

“He believes a good deal of it,” answered Robert. 
“He thinks the ten commandments the best code of 
laws ever given, and says the Sermon on the Mount 
is all right. In fact, all that teaches kindness to one’s 
fellows he believes. He is one of the most generous 
men I have ever known.” 

“Towards his fellow-men, no doubt; but not 
towards his Creator,” said Mrs. King. “He is all 
right as far as he goes ; but does not go far enough. 
What right has he to take out of the Bible what he 
happens to fancy, and throw the rest aside? Yet he 
wanted you because you were brought up by parents 
who believe the Bible.” 

“Yet he says there are a great many unprincipled 
Church members,” said Robert. 

“Of course. Some counterfeits get in every bank ; 
but that does not discredit real coin. There is one 
thing certain, the Church people are the best there 


Reefs in Robert's Way 


i59 


are anyway. Which man would you sooner trust, 
papa or Dr. Clark ?” 

“O mamma, you know well enough that papa is 
the better man of the two !” was the answer. 

“I think so,” said Mrs. King, with a smile, “and 
I knew them both intimately as a girl. I believe the 
doctor had the best disposition naturally; but your 
father has gained the ascendency through following 
the precepts of the Bible. Robert, perhaps this is 
your opportunity to work for God. I ’ve heard that 
since his wife died he has given up his faith in God, 
and taken up the works of the man who believes noth- 
ing in particular. Can’t you help him back to the 
Bible?” 

“Mamma,” Robert confessed, with burning face, 
“he saw me pick up one of those books, and he gave 
it to me.” 

“Get it, and let us read it together,” suggested the 
mother. 

“You would n’t like it, mamma.” 

“Not if it made fun of a Book that has stood like 
the rock of Gibraltar against the popguns of infidels 
for centuries. It is the only guide-book the human 
race has had. Does this blasphemer offer anything 
better? If this book makes fun of my Heavenly 
Father, I certainly will not enjoy it. Would you enjoy 
a book that held up your father to ridicule?” asked 
Mrs. King, earnestly. 

“No, mamma, you know I would not listen to a 
word against father or you,” was the ready answer. 

“I hope you will be as true to God and his Word. 
Bring the book, Robert.” 


i6o 


Why Not 


He brought it in a shamefaced way, and Mrs. King 
pointed out the fallacies in the high-flown argument, 
though the sentences were more a display of rhetoric 
than an attempt at reaching logical conclusions. How 
thankful she was that she had not allowed household 
duties to take every moment, but had done some read- 
ing and thinking ; for she had her match in her skep- 
tical young son, for he had been quite taken with some 
of the mistakes of the Creator, according to his latest 
critic. 

“There are several things I have never thought 
about before/ ” Mrs. King acknowledged to her son. 
“I will get all the best helps on the subject, even if 
I have to go to the city library, and we will study the 
difficulties together. We must study the Bible too, 
and see if we can not go back to it with the old trust. 
It is a great argument that it has been the comfort of 
so many people for centuries, and the best people we 
know follow it carefully. One of the arguments used 
in the early time was, ‘Christians die well/ You know 
how our dear Anna went home joyfully because she 
believed the Word of God was true. You know that 
is how papa bears up cheerfully under the wrongs Mr. 
Hudson has done him.” 

“I do n’t think you need any argument on that 
side when I know my mother so well,” said the young 
man as he kissed her and went to his room. He joined 
his mother in her study, and was convinced before their 
investigation was half through that the Bible was all 
it claimed, and the only safe guide to the other world, 
and that everything that tried to belittle it should be 
scorned. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Maud’s Triumph 

Al\ AUD had been devotedly attached to her sister 
* in their childhood and early girlhood years. Yet 
as the self element developed in her character Maud 
thought less of the interests of other people, even 
those she had dearly loved. She was a girl of strong 
character, and bound to be consecrated to some su- 
preme purpose in life. There was a season when her 
heart turned in devotion to an earnest Christian life; 
but about that time she had a taste of fashionable 
society, and began to long for its pleasures and power. 
Her ambition became supreme to> be a leader in the 
aristocratic circles of the city, and her marriage seemed 
to her the open sesame to all her great ambitions. As 
she expected to be a queen in society, she began her 
reign by being her own worshiper. Poor, tender- 
hearted Edith felt this deeply before she left the home. 
Edith knew that she had lost the dear companion of 
her life. Her sister was thinking more of herself than 
even of the one who was soon to leave her. For a 
month or two after Edith’s death Maud truly sorrowed 
for her sister, and had many pangs of conscience be- 
cause she had often neglected Edith for some pleasant 
plan of her own, when Edith must have felt the neg- 
lect. But the worship of self was so complete Maud 
was greatly relieved when her father requested that 
no one wear mourning for Edith, as he had conscien- 
161 


Why Not 


162 

tious scruples about Christians shrouding themselves 
in black because a friend had been taken to live with 
God. Mrs. Harland was satisfied with this, because 
she knew her husband was in debt for the expense of 
the long illness and the lavish arrangements for the 
laying to rest of her darling. 

But Maud gladly gave up mourning garments be- 
cause she had heard the remark made that black was 
the most unbecoming color she could wear. She had 
noticed that Mr. Irving especially admired her when 
her beauty was enhanced by brilliant colors, and she 
wished that nothing might lessen his devotion, or 
make him less anxious for a speedy marriage. 

At first the parents w'ould consent to a wedding in 
the spring, only on condition that it be a very quiet 
affair, befitting a family lately bereaved of their eldest 
child. But little by little Maud had gained one con- 
cession after another, until a showy Church wedding 
was in prospect. 

“Daughter,” Mr. Harland said one day, “mamma 
and I have given up to a display that pains us more 
than I can say on account of Edith lying here so lately 
in her coffin; but if you are not moved by our grief 
over your sister you must listen to reason about ex- 
pense. Times are very hard just now, and my busi- 
ness dull. I had to borrow the money for your trous- 
seau. I did not mean for you to know this. I did 
more than I ought to have done in that line; but I 
understood there would be no expense in a quiet home 
wedding, and I know you are going into a family 
where elegant clothes are worn; but, my dear, you 
must let Aunt Dinah get up the supper. Your aunt 


SMaud's Triumph 


1 6 3 


says she will superintend everything, and it will be as 
well done as if Becker came and charged a couple of 
hundred dollars.” 

“O papa, Becker brings trained waiters, and fine 
china and linen !” interrupted Maud. 

“All of which we must do without,” went on the 
father. “And you must do without greenhouse deco- 
rations. Flowers are scarce now, and Burton says he 
can not make any display at the church and house for 
less than five hundred dollars.” 

“From first to last I Ve had trouble over this 
affair,” pouted Maud. “I had to coax until I was 
nearly sick over the shabby carpets and old-fashioned 
curtains, and we must invite Mr. Irving’s fashionable 
friends, and I am not going to mortify my husband 
by making him see our poverty. I heard mamma say 
when she wanted such an expensive casket for Edith 
that it was the last thing you could do for her, and it 
is the same with me. I will not trouble you for money 
after this. I hope I can help you, for Mr. Irving has 
promised me he would settle a large sum of money 
on me. Remember, I am not giving him anything 
but myself.” 

The utter heartlessness of this reference to her 
sister, and the mercenary way in which she regarded 
her marriage, made the father turn away from her 
in despair. 

Maud went to her room to shed tears over her hard 
fate, and wonder why she should have so much trouble 
when many girls she knew had every wish gratified 
for the asking. She knew it had been so with Lena, 
and yet she ran away and left it all. Maud was so 


164 


Why Not 


blind to the part she was playing she wondered piously 
how Lena could show so much ingratitude. • 

Mr. Harland soon forgave his ungrateful daughter, 
and began casting about to see how he could make her 
happy without bringing utter ruin on himself. He 
went across the street, as he often did when his heart 
was heavy and he needed the cheer he found in the 
happy family in the mortgaged home. He found Mar- 
garet in the kitchen, her pretty dress hidden by a big 
gingham apron stirring up sponge for bread. Cherry 
was washing dishes, and Robert, tied up in a blue 
apron, was wiping them very vigorously. The chil- 
dren were playing hide and seek with their father, and 
from kitchen to parlor there seemed to be a wave of 
merriment. 

“You are hunting mamma, Uncle James, I sup- 
pose,” said Cherry. “We sent her upstairs to rest, 
because she and papa are going out this evening. 
You will find papa perhaps behind the flour-barrel 
in the pantry or the cabinet in the parlor.” 

“I want to see your mother about something,” Mr. 
Harland said, his grave face relaxing in the genial 
atmosphere. 

“Send uncle upstairs,” came from above in Mrs. 
King's happy tones. “I am banished to the new cen- 
tury, fortunately not yet expired, as it was a gift from 
Margaret on her birthday last summer. Something 
troubles you, brother,” she said, as Mr. Harland sank 
wearily into a chair. 

“Sister Maggie, I want you to try and influence 
Maud. She is naturally a kind-hearted child. I can’t 
account for the change in her since she became the 


cMaud's Triumph 


165 

prospective wife of a millionaire. What makes the 
difference between your children and mine? Is it 
because ours have had more of a worldly bringing up ? 
Charlie seems possessed to be with Harold. If they 
would confine their billiards to the Porter home it 
would do no harm ; but I am in constant fear that is 
not the case. I shall always feel Edith was sacrificed 
by a fashionable dress, and now Maud cares more for 
show than her parents. It looks as if the old-fashioned, 
rigid way of rearing children is the best,” and the 
unhappy father buried his face in his hands and 
groaned aloud. 

“Brother, the narrow way is the safe way ; but you 
must not take this so to heart. Charlie is still young, 
and Maud will get over this selfishness after a time, 
and we will hope the earnest, true side of her character 
will come to the surface again. It is not that dancing 
or billiard-playing is harmful in itself ; but it leads to 
lives devoted to such things. There are a few excep- 
tions. I knew a lovely, devoted Christian who seemed 
to live in a spiritual atmosphere in the midst of all 
that comes to wealth and position, when pleasure is 
the first object; but such cases are rare, for most 
young people care too much for society pleasures. I 
am sure my children would, if they were to give them- 
selves up to that kind of a life. Cherry is our coaxer. 
We will see if she can not induce Maud to come back 
to the first simple plans for her wedding. Tell her 
frankly you have no money.” 

“That will do no good now,” sighed the father. 
“You coveted the best gifts for your children, and 
you have your reward now, Maggie.” 


Why Not 


1 66 

Cherry did her best to persuade Maud to let Aunt 
Dinah get up the supper, and the girl friends decorate 
the church with apple-blossoms and plants that could 
be easily borrowed. But Maud scorned home cook- 
ing and simple garden flowers, and managed in one 
way and another to carry out her ideas of an elegant 
wedding. She took her model from the newspaper 
description of a fashionable New York wedding, mak- 
ing only a poor imitation. The church was a bower of 
beauty, and eight bridesmaids followed her with 
wreaths of roses. In all this splendor Maud was not 
able to give her thoughts to the true beauty and sub- 
limity of the supreme hour of her life. She knew she 
was beautiful in her flowing white satin gown and 
glittering diamonds, so lavishly bestowed by the 
groom. Some one said Maud might have been taken 
for an advertisement for some diamond firm. The 
bride’s face was not beautified by the sweet, trustful 
happiness one expects in the young wife; but there 
was an expression of triumph a queen might show on 
ascending a throne. After the elegant reception the 
midnight train bore Maud towards the Old World, 
where she expected to realize all the dreams of happi- 
ness a romantic young woman could entertain. She 
softened a little when she bade her mother and father 
good-bye ; but instead of words of appreciation of all 
that they had done, her last thought was in keeping 
with her new self-centered existence, for she said, 
“Mamma, do n’t let any one pack my presents but 
yourself, for many of them are costly, you know.” 

Mrs. Harland was sick for a week from overwork, 
and Cherry packed the valuable things that had made 


cMaud's Triumph 


167 


the library look like a fancy bazaar. At the end of the 
week the final blow came to Mrs. Harland. When 
Mr. Harland’s creditors read of the extravagant wed- 
ding he had given his daughter they demanded pay- 
ment, and as he could not mortgage anything nor 
borrow any more he had to let everything go, and 
take the benefit of the bankrupt law for the deficit. 
The new carpets and curtains went back to the store, 
and the furniture was sold except just enough to fur- 
nish a few rooms in a house in the outskirts of the 
village. 

There were many sensational stories told, some not 
to the credit of Mr. Harland; but all this had to be 
borne as part of the punishment of having lived so 
long on other people’s money. It happened when the 
bride reached her paradise of roses on the Mediter- 
ranean, where she was to spend her “honeymoon,” 
she forgot for a while the smiling sea and vine-clad 
hills, for letters from her mother and papers from 
some envious acquaintance awaited her, telling of her 
father’s bankruptcy, and she had the bitterness of re- 
membering if she had not been so reckless her father 
might have tided over his financial difficulties until she 
could have saved him. 

Mrs. Harland had one more hope left in life, and 
that was her handsome son Charlie. For his sake she 
tried to make the best of it. Some of the former 
luxuries had been allowed her, and many things were 
bought in by friends, so the new home was not un- 
attractive. Charlie had never had an opportunity to 
help in the home; but for a while he tried to be to 
his mother what Robert was to his when she happened 


i68 


Why Not 


to be without a servant. Mr. Harland was given a 
place under the new management, and though the 
salary was small, it was a relief to him to know just 
how much there was coming each week, and to see 
that his wife was bravely trying to make the living 
within the small income. 

Aunt Dinah insisted on donating her services to 
Mrs. Harland until she had the new home in good 
order, and was quite well again. 

“Laws, honey, I b'long to all of your mother's 
children," the faithful colored woman said. “I ain’t 
made for fine weather, but fur hard times. I 'm g'wine 
to see you through till Miss Maud comes back. She 
was a little sot up ; but she 's got the right stuff in her, 
an’ it 'll come out in time. She jest got astray wantin' 
a good time. I mind when she laid in the grass an’ 
cried for the moon ; but seein' she did n't get it she 
come to an' was all right. When she learns she can’t 
have all there is all to herself, she 'll come out all 
right." Dinah had so long been a servant and valued 
friend of the family, that she expressed her mind as 
freely as the rest, and was sure of the mothers giving 
her their confidence. 

“I 've been to blame with Maud, Dinah," Mrs. 
Harland said. “Now I do n't want to make any more 
mistakes. I 've let Charlie have his own way, thinking 
the best way to manage boys was not to let them know 
what you most wanted." 

“That 's buildin' too much on the natural con- 
trariness of man, an' de Lord knows man 's naturally 
contrary. When I took holt of Pete's chil'ren he got 
the door shet by sayin' to his boy, 'Look here, do n't 


cMaud's Triumph 


169 


you shet that dowr,’ an’ then it was sure to slam shet. 
But the principle was bad. Says I, Tete, you ’ve got 
to crowd out some of that possessedness by crowdin’ 
in some good/ an’ I begin by gettin’ books an’ pic- 
tures an’ lettin’ the boy larn the banjo till I thought 
my head would bust ; but I tolled him right along into 
the King’s highway, an’ I should n’t be ’sprised if he ’d 
take to preachin’ yet. You won’t mind your old 
mammy’s talkin’ so plain, Mis’ Jennie ; but I ’d dress 
up more an’ play games with Massa Charlie, an’ go 
out with him, an’ have company fur him. Maybe the 
Lord ’s sent this ’diction, an’ took away the care of 
the big house an’ s’ciety to give you a chance to take 
care of your boy fur him.” 

Mrs. Harland sighed. “I suppose you are right, 
Dinah. Of course, God means something in all his 
providences, though it seems to me I have had more 
than my share of trouble the last year ; but if I can put 
a more earnest purpose into the heart of my boy than 
I did in my girls, I will do it. I lean too much to 
worldly pleasures myself to be the best help for young 
people.” 

'Tray de Lord to prop you on de leanin’ side, 
den,” said the old colored woman. "If your young 
folks see dat you like de world, yet live fur better 
things, it ’ll tell. Some trees are strongest on the 
sides where de gardener had to prop ’em.” 


CHAPTER XVn 


Cousin Hannah’s Legacy 

'T'HE King family always called the first year after 
* their father’s business failure, “Hardscrabble 
year,” for each had to study economy to its last chap- 
ter. Even letters had to be curtailed on account of 
postage-stamps, and all luxuries given up, because 
the father said that one of the principles of the Chris- 
tian life was, “Owe no man anything.” 

“Is debt never right, papa?” inquired Robert, when 
his father insisted on his waiting to earn the money 
for a new wheel. 

“Yes, to carry on business, if your prospects are 
good enough to make borrowing money possible. If 
you wanted to mortgage yourself and borrow money 
for an education, if any one would take the risk of 
waiting for the money, it would be justifiable; but I 
would not advise it for a wheel, or a pleasure trip, or 
the new Golf Club.” 

“But golf is such splendid exercise, the president 
of our college plays to keep himself in health,” urged 
Robert. 

“Yes, it is a safe, clean game, if people will choose 
their language, and has the sanction of long usage; 
but if one can not afford to walk around after a ball, 
with the excitement of striking it into a hole, one 
could get the same fresh air and exercise by walking 
170 


Cousm Hannah's Legacy 171 

where there would be no caddy to pay or expensive 
grounds to keep up.” 

“But walking just to walk is very tame business,” 
said the son. 

“Yes, it is the pleasant comradeship and the stim- 
ulus of trying to win something that makes golf better 
exercise than mere walking, if one can afford the 
sport,” replied the father. 

“You do n’t think it a sinful waste of time, then, 
father?” asked Robert. 

“Yes, if it is made a business, and a young man is 
merely a golf-stick holder ; but if it is indulged in only 
for needed recreation from heavier work it is all 
right, provided one can afford it,” was the answer. 

All that year Robert had a struggle to give up 
things that gave him pleasure, but were now beyond 
the reach of a poor young man, and that was his 
special trial. That was the year there were no Christ- 
mas presents, but still merry-making in the old house 
over simple games and home-made candy and pop- 
corn balls. Margaret wrote stories for a children's 
paper after her school work was over, and Cherry 
learned how to cut and fit dresses and help her mother 
with the family sewing when she could be spared 
from the mill. Paul paid his board, and Nannie, who 
was growing tall and strong, was very helpful in the 
kitchen. Mrs. King worked in many ways, trying to 
have the plain food so perfectly cooked and served 
the family would not notice the absence of many things 
they had once thought indispensable. In the summer 
the house was open to summer boarders. It was all 
very well to wait on people “for sweet charity’s sake ;” 


172 


Why Not 


but to do this for money was the hardest experience 
these girls had ever known. 

“I am getting as common as our wash-woman/’ 
Cherry sighed one day. “To think of my waiting on 
the table for a woman like Mrs. Sparks and her fine 
daughter, who has not an idea in her head worth five 
cents.” 

“Such people can’t make me feel common,” said 
Margaret, holding her fine head very high. “If I do 
fuss over her eggs and toast, I know — ” 

“She is not worthy to tie your shoestrings,” 
laughed Cherry. 

“I wonder if my girlies are losing some of the joy 
of life by forgetting they can keep boarders ‘for His 
sake/ ” said the mother, gently. 

“Mother mine, I ’m going from to-day to make 
that my motto again, and try and get Lilian Sparks to 
feel as we do,” said Cherry, earnestly. 

“You mean, feel too proud to do honest work?” 
asked Margaret. 

“No, dearie. I mean to feel first myself the joy 
I once felt in doing the smallest thing, and taking the 
slightest pleasure ‘for His sake/ ” said Cherry, softly. 
“I ’m sort of disappointed in myself, that I have not 
been happier over these boarders, for they have been 
very profitable.” 

“Yes, it has enabled papa to meet his interest 
money nicely, and we thank our brave girls,” said the 
mother. 

The rest of the summer did not seem quite so 
hard, especially as business at the mill was growing 
better all the time. 


Cousin Hannah's Legacy 


i73 


About the middle of the next winter, Cousin Han- 
nah died suddenly. She was a beautiful character and 
had many friends, and her immediate relatives 
mourned sincerely her loss, not without some hidden 
feeling about the disposal of her comfortable estate. 

“I can’t help hoping that Cousin Hannah did the 
generous thing by papa,” Cherry said the morning the 
will was to be read. “A few thousand dollars would 
mean so much to him now. He is looking old and 
worn, and mamma works beyond her strength, and 
you are thin as a rail, Margaret. If you lose another 
pound I will be the beauty of the family. It sounds 
cozy and nice to read of people being happy in pov- 
erty ; but they can be a great deal happier when they 
are sure of a roof and a good dinner. If we are still 
poverty-poor I shall marry Mr. Nelson; that is, if he 
insists on it. One martyr to principle in the family 
is enough.” 

“You would be happier in a log-cabin with a man 
who cares for the things that George Burton does, 
than to live with Mr. Nelson in a palace with no diver- 
sion but conversation about profit and loss,” said 
Margaret. 

“Mr. Nelson is a mere money-making machine,” 
acknowledged Cherry. “He is going to get us out of 
the woods by his money-getting faculty; but George 
will always be poor. When he spends his last cent 
getting through the seminary he will scorn a decent 
pulpit, but will go to some wilderness or bury him- 
self in the slums of some big city. We were brother 
and sister college friends ; but that was all, and I am 

free to become the wife of a rich man, and confi- 
12 


174 


Why Not 


dentially I can’t help observing Mr. Nelson comes 
down twice as often as is necessary. But Cousin 
Hannah may make me independent, so ‘I can marry 
my own love/ ” 

The announcement of the contents of Miss Han- 
nah’s will was a surprise to her nearest friends. The 
will began with these words : “Because I have devoted 
too much of my life to my own happiness, and too 
little of it to God’s work, I leave most of my property 
to charitable purposes. The tenement on Water Street 
I leave to my cousin’s daughter, Margaret. If she 
will keep a college settlement there, or do some work 
that will benefit that neighborhood, she is to have an 
income of one thousand dollars a year. When special 
missionary effort stops, the income is to go to the 
foreign work I have remembered.” Then followed 
a wise distribution among a struggling college, mis- 
sionary societies, and city charities. One thousand 
dollars went to Mr. King, and a valuable keepsake to 
each of his children. 

“So it ’s lady Margaret that ’s the heiress,” Cherry 
said, when she could recover herself. “Please, ma’am, 
you ’ll be after lettin’ me have an attic cheap when I 
go to talcin’ in washin’ by the piece.” 

“Papa, I shall make that building over to you,” 
said Margaret. “There are no conditions on owning 
the building, and I can’t do settlement work.” 

“But you will find others who feel called to that 
work,” replied the father. “I am grateful for a thou- 
sand dollars to lessen the home mortgage; and glad 
that Cousin Hannah will live in so many lives for 
years to come.” 


Cousin Hannah's Legacy 


i75 


“Poor Robert will have still to carry coffee and 
dirty dishes !” sighed Cherry, who found it hard to live 
always on the heights. 

“Business is so good, and Nelson so generous to 
turn every advantage my way, I can help Robert, and 
set you free another year. Cherry,” said the father, 
hopefully. 

Cherry blushed, for she was thinking of a way she 
might escape from the dull routine of the little office 
and the odor of the factory. 

“Margie,” she said afterwards, “time was when a 
girl disappointed in love went into a convent ; now she 
goes into a settlement. There, I won’t joke; you do 
care yet.” 

“Yes, I care very much, Cherry; but I am sure 
God answered my prayer for guidance, so I do not 
worry. If papa can spare what I have been adding to 
the family fund, I shall go into Cousin Hannah’s 
work.” 

“You help me be true to the highest things, for you 
do live our family motto,” said Cherry. 

After that she was careful to answer the letters 
from the poor young theologue very promptly, and 
to avoid Mr. Nelson; so he went back without offering 
her the large diamond he had expected her to wear. 
He soon offered it to another young lady, somewhat 
to Miss Cherry’s chagrin, for she would have liked a 
little more appreciation of his loss. Margaret began 
her new work in the summer. 

“Why should I not spend part of my time there 
since the people who live there can endure all the 
summer ?” she said, in reply to the urging of her fam- 


176 


Why Not 


ily for her to keep out of the heat. “I am going to 
live on very little the first year, and take the rest of my 
income and the rent, and put the place in perfect 
repair." 

Margaret went to view her possessions one after- 
noon towards the cool of the evening, to decide where 
to begin her improvements. She arrived on the scene 
just as one of her tenants was being put in the street 
because of refusal to pay rent. There was little to 
put out, for piece by piece the furniture had gone to 
the pawnbroker's to help sustain the nearest saloon. 
But an old cradle stirred Margaret's womanly heart 
to its depths. 

“Who put these things in the street at this time 
of the day?" she asked sternly of a woman who was 
knitting on the stairs. 

“The agent, ma'am. Them Smiths do n't pay no 
rent. He told me hisself, Smith did, it was a mighty 
sight cheaper to move than to pay rent ; but this time 
he got ketched. They heard the old lady was dead, 
an' staid till they was sot out." 

“How much are they in debt?" asked Margaret. 

“Six months. He worked the sick baby act, an' 
the man who takes the rent ain't hard on us if we can 
have some one in bed when he gits round," was the 
candid answer. 

Just then the Smith family followed their house- 
hold effects. The woman was wiping her eyes on a 
dirty apron, and carrying a heavy baby on one arm, 
four children of various ages followed her, and a 
lazy-looking man brought up the rear. 

“Where will they go?" asked Margaret, anxiously, 


Cousin Hannah's Legacy 


i? 7 


as the family filed past her without noticing her, as 
she stood in the shadow. 

“Don" no, ’spose the ma and baby are goin’ to 
her ma’s, the girls may get in too, and her man an’ 
boys can sleep outdoors sich a night as this. The old 
man in the cellar will take in their things till they 
pack ’em to a new place, where they ’ll stay till they ’re 
fired ag’in.” 

“Do they never pay for their home?” asked Mar- 
garet. 

“What’s they got to pay rent with?” asked the 
old woman, in an injured tone. “Much as we all can 
do to git to eat, without payin’ rich folks rent-money,” 
and she gave Margaret a scornful glance that showed 
that the young lady was included with that hated 
class. Margaret had worn her plainest gingham and 
a cheap sailor-hat ; but dressed in any way she looked 
“the lady of high degree.” 

Margaret tingled with indignation when she saw 
the furniture in the street. She intended calling back 
the family, and dismissing her cruel agent the next 
day. Yet she remembered the large sum her agent 
told her must be realized from this building to pay the 
taxes, insurance, and water rates, to say nothing of 
repairs and the hope of some interest on the money 
invested, all of which was now to be spent for the good 
of the inmates of the house. She watched the family 
disappear, and went to their late headquarters feeling 
like a criminal herself. She found the rooms were 
about the most desirable in the building, for they 
were on the second floor, the large room facing the 
street, with a small bedroom overlooking the alley. 


1 7 S 


Why Not 


Not a fine view from the bedroom ; but there was some 
light. The middle room was lighted by two windows 
on the alley, and the kitchen had two windows towards 
the west. The last sunbeams gave Margaret an oppor- 
tunity to see how filthy everything was that had been 
in contact with the delinquent Smiths. 

“I ’ll take these rooms and begin right in the 
middle,” Margaret decided, and then she saw an ugly 
creeping thing on the wall beside her, and she turned 
in disgust and fled into the street, running into a young 
man who was passing by. 

“Why, Miss Margaret, what are you doing here at 
seven o’clock? Have you taken to slumming, and 
have you seen a ghost ?” inquired the young man, who 
happened to be Mr. Stevens. 

“No and yes,” laughed Margaret. “I ’m so glad 
to see you, for it frightens me down here. I know so 
little of the city away from the big stores. Cousin 
Hannah left me this building, and I ’m going to live 
here and try and help these miserable people.” 

“O, you like this kind of work?” he asked, in 
surprise. 

“No, I hate it. I ’ve just run from something that 
would not have killed me. I suppose I will faint when 
I see a rat. But you know the purpose of my life, 
very poorly carried out. Should I be so much better 
cared for than my Master was?” she answered, 
humbly. 

“There are many kinds of work in uplifting hu- 
manity, for that is what true religion is,” said Mr. 
Stevens, looking at Margaret’s delicate face, and the 
hands that even cooking could not spoil. “But if it 


Cousin Hannah's Legacy 


179 


is your duty, you will succeed. I happen to have a 
tenement near, and I am trying to improve it from 
a business standpoint. Perhaps I can help you/’ 

“O, if you only would !” cried Margaret. “My 
agent seems too busy to suggest how to begin. I 
want the whole thing cleaned, and papered, and 
painted, and I want to fix up some rooms for myself. 
I have a thousand dollars I can use, and live off of 
the rents later.” 

“I have some workmen who are just through with 
my house and can begin at once, and there are plenty 
of poor women who want work, but must have some 
one show them how to clean. But can you stand this 
heat after your pure air out in the country?” 

“If others can,” answered Margaret. 

“That does not follow,” replied Mr. Stevens from 
his deeper experience. “Poverty is not quite as hard 
as it seems on the surface. The very poor are the 
most care-free people on earth. They live from day 
to day as do the birds. The children often suffer, but 
not as one would suppose. As Jacob Riis says, they 
get ‘manured to the soil/ One family in my house 
had measles, and I know for a fact the window was 
not raised for several weeks.” 

“Of course, the children died,” said Margaret. 

“Not one of them. I know their ways go against 
all medical works ; but poor children live. It is not 
charity they need as much as enlightenment.” 

“They need Jesus Christ,” said Margaret, softly. 

“Yes, I grant they need the influence in their lives 
that belief seems to give. The Salvation Army got 
hold of some of my worst people, and since then they 


i8o 


Why Not 


have left off drink, and have begun to support their 
families and to pay the rent, which I consider very 
religious.” 

Margaret suggested that the young man go home 
with her for supper, that they might make plans for 
the new work, which invitation was gladly accepted, 
and two young people were soon working at the same 
problem, one from a humanitarian standpoint, and 
the other for love of Christ. 

It was Aunt Dinah who was Margaret’s “right 
bower,” to use the term of the man of the world. She 
superintended the first general cleaning, and after that 
came twice a week to clean Margaret’s little home, 
and constituted herself a training-school for domestic 
science for the poor mothers under that roof. 

“It is well some people have a talent for house- 
cleaning,” Margaret said, as she watched Aunt Dinah’s 
victory over the soot and dust of the city. 

“Laws, honey, there must be earthen vessels as well 
as silver ones. You’s porcel’in china, an’ I ’m granit- 
ware. You would n’t think of bilin’ a dinner in a vase, 
or puttin’ roses in a black kittle, only it riles the kittle 
to bilin’ over if the vase thinks it ’s worth more.” 

“People could live easier without china than iron ; 
but each has its use,” replied Margaret. 

“When folks lived with jest stun an’ iron they was 
not very civilized,” answered the colored woman. 
“Sich folks as you keep us from bein’ savage agin.” 

“Many educated people can work with their 
hands,” said Margaret. “Mr. Stevens has a rich 
father; but he knows how to use carpenter tools so 
well, he could earn his living that way,” said Margaret, 


Cousin Hannah's Legacy 181 

not wanting people of their kind considered simply 
ornamental. 

“He ’s a likely young man if he had made a pro- 
fession; ” said Aunt Dinah. “He do n’t go to Church, 
honey. He ’s better to other folks than to hisself. ,, 

“I know that,” answered Margaret; and then the 
proud girl hid her face a moment on the faithful old 
bosom, where she had been rocked to sleep many times 
in her childhood years. It was a relief to show her 
heart where she could find comfort as a child might. 

“There, there, chile, I know all about it, honey; 
but you holt to the rightness of the thing, an’ the Lord 
will bring it all right. Do n’t let even de love of a nice 
man git in between you an’ de Heavenly Fader.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The Wanderer’s Return 

IT was clear that Margaret could not work alone, so 
* Katherine was invited to be her assistant. Mar- 
garet was able to offer her a small salary, and without 
it Katherine welcomed the opportunity to give herself 
to definite religious work. She had no shrinking from 
the loathsome side of extreme poverty, and cared 
little for a luxurious. home ; so what was real sacrifice 
to dainty Margaret, was a matter of indifference to 
Katherine. With the practical help of Mr. Stevens, 
and suggestions from Mrs. King, the little settlement 
home was soon very attractive. Everything was new 
and comfortable, but very inexpensive, so there would 
be little difference in the homes of their neighbors, 
except the gospel of perfect cleanliness, which was so 
marked in the new home. 

“It goes against the grain to eat in the kitchen,” 
sighed Margaret; “but we do need a sleeping place 
for a chance guest. Yet I see no reason why our 
blooming plants should be in old tin-cans, Katherine ?” 

“Because the poorest can follow our example. I 
am going to get plants in every window before I get 
through,” said Katherine. 

“Poor people are so lazy,” said Margaret. “I was 
trying yesterday to impress Mrs. Maloney that the 
curtains she admired in our parlor were only six cents 
a yard ; but she answered : ‘They Ve got to be washed 
182 


The Wanderer's Return 183 

every month if they look like that. It *s lots easier to 
pin up an old newspaper/ The women sit outside or 
stand in each other's doors and gossip, when they 
might be mending or cleaning. It 's so different in 
story-books, where a young lady visits a poor family 
a few times, and the mother spurs up and washes 
windows and makes a rag-carpet and gets her chil- 
dren in good clothes, and the father becomes a sober 
gentleman all in one chapter. Now that I lose the 
rent of that front room down-stairs, and have a place 
where the young people might come, they prefer the 
street/' 

“No wonder, this hot weather; but they will grad- 
ually come to seeing our ways are best," said Kath- 
erine. “We must use more faith. We can pray to 
get into their hearts. They certainly regard us as 
intruders now." 

The girls worked on faithfully, helping nurse sick 
children, lending books and papers, and trying to 
speak words of encouragement everywhere. They 
found that most of the women tried to get all out of 
them they could in the way of money and clothes; 
but after it was found that the young ladies did not 
supply all the wants that were freely shown them, the 
tenement women began to feel the newcomers were 
pleasant friends. Here and there after a while a white 
curtain before a clean window, an attempt towards a 
well-ordered household, especially a table set three 
times a day instead of “a hand around," showed that 
the leaven was working. 

There was so much to be done, Margaret interested 
all of her girl friends, especially the “King's Daugh- 


184 


Why Not 


ters,” in the work. One “ten” undertook the care of 
a cripple; another, of some orphans a grandmother 
was struggling to rear. A Christian Endeavor Society 
undertook the establishment of a small library, with 
fresh magazines and books in the house parlor. An 
Epworth League near took charge of a kindergarten 
held in one of the back rooms of this large dwelling. 

“There ’s one thing I notice, Mr. Stevens,” Mar- 
garet said one day. “The young people who live 
simply for a good time are not to be depended upon 
in such an effort. Most of the society girls have to 
rest through the day, and save what strength they have 
for calls and shopping. The girls who think first of 
Christ are the ones who are sending fruit and flowers 
for the sick, and are willing to come down and stay 
with a cross baby while the mother goes out for fresh 
air.” 

“There are two kinds of Christians,” answered 
Mr. Stevens. “I have some young friends who are 
Church members, who are not working hard at it. 
Perhaps it is where you young folks band together in 
societies that you get the most inspiration for work 
for others.” 

“That helps,” answered Margaret ; “but the differ- 
ence is the object of one’s life. These good helpers 
do it 'for His sake.’ ” 

“Miss Margaret, please call at that sick-room on 
the second floor of my house. I have had the best 
doctor there; but that woman has to die, and needs 
help I can’t give,” said Mr. Stevens. 

“I wish you could,” said Margaret. 

“So do I ; but I can’t feel the need of the Friend 


The Wanderer's Return 


185 


that is such a real part of your life. I can’t pretend, 
even for the sake of the dearest wish of my life,” Mr. 
Stevens answered, in a tone that showed his sincerity. 

Cherry happened in just then, and Margaret wel- 
comed her warmly, and began to ask her opinion on 
various perplexities. “It is easy to see why men and 
boys go to the saloon and beer-gardens in the evening. 
They do not care to crowd in their small rooms with 
a lot of quarreling children. The men are tired, and 
need diversion. I need a beer-garden without the 
beer, and if I had money I would clear out that back- 
yard and make one. People need to be amused. The 
old monarchs were most honored who provided 
amusements for the people, even of a miserable kind. 
Why do not Church people recognize this trait of 
human nature if they want to be fishers of men?” 

“Never mind where others fail, Margie,” answered 
sensible Cherry. “Make a little oasis of success in 
the midst of the desert of failures around you. Plave 
some entertainment for this neighborhood each week.” 

After this, Margaret began her Saturday-night 
entertainments, as that was the evening when more 
people were tempted than any other with a little 
money to spend. The little parlor was easily crowded 
to listen to the concerts or readings Margaret was able 
to furnish. Then Mr. Stevens came forward with his 
help, and hired a band for his neighborhood for Fri- 
day evening, and for the front of Margaret’s house on 
Saturday evening. He discovered a man with a stere- 
opticon, who could throw interesting pictures on the 
opposite building. At these times lemonade was 
served for two cents a glass, with ice-water free, and 


i86 


Why Not 


the neighboring saloon suffered in consequence. In 
time the space back of two tenement-houses was made 
into respectable little parks, where a man could sit 
and smoke (Margaret had to concede this), and see 
his wife resting, with the children playing near. All 
this brought children to the Sunday-school, and young 
people to Katherine’s Bible talks, and occasional ad- 
ditions to the neighboring churches. 

“I have come in to take your place a few days,” 
Cherry announced one October day. “I think the 
poor folk like me better, anyway.” 

“So they do, Cherry. You have some of mamma’s 
mince-pies and some cookies in your basket, so out 
with them quickly,” answered Margaret. 

“Get on your things. You were born for luxury, 
and I for poverty. Your dirty babies crawl into my 
arms, and their mothers let me help them scrub, while 
your white hands save you.” 

“Katherine does all that, and sees to the heads 
of the children in a way that makes me creepy. I ’m 
a settlement failure,” answered Margaret. 

“No, you plan things splendidly. You were meant 
to be at the head of a Board of Managers. You have 
planned wonderfully well,” said Cherry. 

“And every one has done the work,” admitted 
Margaret, “which shows a diversity of gifts. Slum 
work is not the only important thing in the world,” 
answered Margaret. “The danger now is that people 
who live in nice homes and have plenty to eat will 
suffer for lack of sympathy and Christian counsel. 
Christ did not ignore Nicodemus because he was rich, 
or slight the good hospitality of Martha. I came in to 


The Wanderer' s Return 


187 


send you to Mrs. Porter. She says you are the only 
one she will see. The senator is lying very sick and 
will probably die, and Harold is at Harvard and would 
be no comfort. Maud is absorbed in her fine estab- 
lishment, and even mamma fails to comfort her. She 
told mamma we all dropped her after Lena left, when 
she needed young girls around her most.” 

“She seemed so proud and cold I did not think 
of trying to help her,” admitted Margaret. 

“A strange discovery has broken her down com- 
pletely just now,” went on Cherry. “When Judge 
Porter thought he was going to die, he confessed that 
Lena had written to him and begged his forgiveness 
and help. He wrote back that if she would give up 
her husband forever she could return. She answered 
in her old independent way, which so angered her 
father he did not reply. Lately he has repented his 
harshness, and has tried to find her ; but all he learned 
was that she was deserted by her husband and sent 
to some hospital.” 

“I ’ll go to Mrs. Porter at once,” said Margaret. 
“You know my rounds of visiting and the kinder- 
garten work. My new teacher is splendid. Thanks 
to Mr. Stevens’s management I get most of the rent, 
and can have a roof-garden next year with a railing, 
where the children can get sunshine and air.” 

That evening Mr. Stevens dropped in, and seemed 
not as delighted to see the change as Cherry thought 
he might have been. “A proud rich woman is in 
deep trouble, and she insisted that no one but Mar- 
garet would do,” explained Cherry. 

“No wonder,” said the young man, frankly. “Miss 


i88 


Why Not 


Margaret shows the high and holy purpose of her 
life in even the most trivial things. Her very pleas- 
ures are for the sake of the Master she loves.” After 
this he remembered he had a business engagement, 
and Katherine went downstairs to the sitting-room to 
play some patriotic songs. It was election times, and 
the city was in an uproar. At one time Katherine 
would have played only gospel songs; but she had 
learned they were not always best for those she wanted 
to win to Christ, and she felt the popular melodies of 
the street were what was necessary now. 

In the room above, Cherry sat in the open window 
enjoying a breeze from the river, when she recognized 
a face in the crowd below. A young woman with a 
baby in her arms had looked up, and then came a 
cry, “Cherry! that can’t be you?” “Yes; wait, Lena,” 
and Cherry fairly flew to the pavement below. She 
need not have feared that Lena might disappear in 
the crowd, for the poor girl clung to Cherry as if she 
could not let her go. 

“Margaret lives here doing mission work. She 
is n’t home ; but I am very glad to see you. You know 
we were always fond of each other.” 

“Yes, I’m glad Margaret is away; for she never 
cared for her own way, and you did sometimes, and 
can understand me better,” said Lena, trying to hide 
behind Cherry to avoid the curious glances of the 
people listening outside to the music. 

Cherry hurried her friend upstairs, taking the baby 
in her own arms, as Lena seemed too weak for even 
that light burden. 

“What a cozy, homelike place,” Lena said when 


The Wanderer's Return 


189 


the light was made. “But what are you girls doing 
here ?” 

“Cousin Hannah left this big house to Margaret, 
and some of us live here all the time, and try to help 
the people ; they are the poorer working-class, but not 
the worst people in the city/’ 

“It was always the helping idea with you girls, and 
it was the good times with me, and see how it has all 
turned out. O Cherry, I am so wretched !” and Lena 
sank on the couch with a groan. Only an intimate 
friend would have recognized the once brilliant young 
girl in the haggard face and hollow-eyed young 
mother. 

“How you have suffered, dear !” said Cherry, kiss- 
ing the white face. “I have blamed myself bitterly 
for going with you to that theater, for I ought to have 
been strong enough to have kept us both out of 
danger/’ 

“Many girls heard that play, but did not get into 
trouble. It seemed to be my fate,” sighed Lena. 
“You know mamma always encouraged my parlor act- 
ing, and I was so wild to go on the stage I might have 
gone even if I had not met Clarence. But I got 
enough of the stage before I got through. Are we 
alone, Cherry?” 

“Yes, darling. You remember Katherine More- 
land. She is the mainstay in this work. You hear 
her singing?” 

“Yes, that is why, when I heard her sweet voice, 
I remembered that song, 

‘ Take my life, and let it be 
Consecrated, Lord, to thee.’ 


13 


Why Not 


190 

I laughed behind her back that day ; but I have found 
there are worse things than being pious.” 

“There is nothing better than being pious in the 
right way,” replied Cherry, promptly. “We have all 
learned to respect Katherine’s beautiful devotion to 
God, and she has learned to be religious, and natural 
too. You see she can sing with that crowd what she 
does not care for, but which interests them. Before 
the evening is over they will be listening to her sweet 
gospel songs, and joining with her in the chorus. See, 
baby will lie on these cushions. I have a gas-stove, 
and will have you a cup of tea and some toast in a few 
minutes, and then we will talk.” 

“I ’ve no place to stay all night,” said Lena. “I 
had just money enough to get here. I remembered 
a Mrs. Maloney here, who used to mend mamma’s 
laces, and I meant to ask her to keep me all night and 
lend me money to get to Rockville. Think of it, 
Cherry, I am just a common beggar.” 

“No, you are my honored guest,” said Cherry, 
brightly. “I am sure you are forgiven at home, and 
that they are anxious to see you ; but I want you to 
have a good night’s rest, and I will go with you to- 
morrow. Katherine will not be up again, for she is 
going to spend the night with a poor mother who is a 
widow, and who buried her baby to-day.” 

Lena shuddered as she looked at the baby in the 
corner, and said : “But the woman can sleep to-night. 
There will be no one crying in her room.” 

“She will be crying herself, for she loved her baby,” 
said Cherry, sharply. 

“I ’m afraid I do n’t as I ought,” admitted the 


The Wanderer's Return 191 

young mother. “He has caused me so much suffer- 
ing and trouble ; yet I suppose I would feel badly if he 
were dead. O Cherry, you do not know how the baby 
brings up his father’s face, and I hate him now !” 

“Never mind that now. See what a nice supper 
I have. That egg is done to a second, and I have 
some home peaches when you get through with the 
substantial part/’ said Cherry, putting the dainty tray 
on a table by the lounge. She was pained to see how 
hungry Lena was, for she ate as if she were almost 
famished. 

“One reason the baby has been so cross is, I 
have n’t been half-fed since he came. He sleeps be- 
cause he is worn out crying. How fresh and pretty 
you look, Cherry, as if you had never known what 
hunger or sorrow was!” Lena said, in an injured 
tone. 

After awhile the baby awoke, and was soon well 
cared for. 

“I ’ll put a match to my grate fire, which we light 
these cool evenings, and I ’ll bathe and put a night- 
dress on baby, for we always keep little clothes on 
hands in case of sudden sickness among our neigh- 
bors. Margaret’s parish extends beyond this build- 
ing a long way.” 

After the baby was settled for the night, Cherry 
sat down on the lounge and drew Lena close to her, 
and staid, “Tell me all about it, darling.” 

“Cherry, I really loved Clarence, and forgot every- 
thing else when he asked me to go off with him. I 
suppose because I always had followed my own pleas- 
ure it seemed the most natural thing to do>. I was 


192 


Why Not 


very happy at first, for Clarence got good wages and 
he spent it lavishly on me. I went right in the com- 
pany and took small parts ; but it was not as easy as 
I had expected, for it takes much practice even to go 
off and on the stage in a natural manner, and the lead- 
ing parts are hard to learn. But Clarence was so de- 
voted to me then I did not mind the hard work, and 
my singing helped me on. It is cold and barren 
behind the scenes, and one has to care a great deal 
for acting not to get very tired of going over and over 
again with the same part, and the managers are very 
free to criticise and say ugly things if they do n’t like 
you, and pat you on the cheek or be too- familiar some 
way if you are a favorite, though my husband pro- 
tected me from much the other girls had to bear. One 
of the leading ladies took sick suddenly. I had heard 
her go through her part so often I knew it, and as 
there was singing in it I was the only one who could 
take her place on a few hours’ notice. I tried to suc- 
ceed, and I did.” 

“Did you enjoy it?” asked Cherry. 

“Yes, for a time. There is something very exciting 
in having a lot of people watching you with deep in- 
terest and applauding you, and knowing other girls 
are envying you. Of course Clarence was proud of 
me, and was still good to me. I believe the leading 
lady of that play was a pure, good woman ; but some 
of the women were not, and I had to shut my eyes 
and ears to many things. The only real thing was the 
play we were acting. The rest seemed the play, and 
between the acts we all behaved different from what 
we would have done, if it had not all seemed unreal. 


The Wanderer's Return 


i93 


We were thrown very intimately together with our 
rehearsals and our late suppers after the play. Clar- 
ence took me to hear all the noted actors when he 
could get off, and to see all the sights, so we had a 
good time. Cherry, people of the world do have a 
good time in their way. Preachers who think they 
do n’t are mistaken. The trouble is, when it stops 
there is nothing to fall back upon, and my happiness 
was soon ended.” 

“How could you help writing to your poor 
mother?” asked Cherry, her heart hardening against 
Lena as she recalled pleasure that ought not to have 
been hers. 

“I did more than once. The first letter was sent 
to Rockville, and the family had gone to Washington, 
and the letter came back ; but Clarence did not tell 
me, for he wanted me to get well trained on the stage 
before I made up with my parents; for he thought I 
had such a brilliant career that even they would con- 
sent to my acting. When I got into trouble I wrote 
to papa ; but I could not accept the terms he offered, 
for I hoped to win Clarence back to me, and baby 
was coming, and I did not want to come home then,” 
and Lena buried her face on Cherry’s shoulder and 
burst into tears. 

“Go on, dear,” said Cherry, soothingly. 

“While we were having a good time, Clarence 
quarreled with the manager over our salary not being 
paid promptly, and it ended in his losing his place 
and having to join a poor traveling company, and for 
a year I have led a dreadful life. We would have to 
play at a town and travel at night perhaps, and re- 


194 


Why Not 


hearse the next morning, then play again at night, 
stopping at the poorest little hotels or cheap board- 
ing-houses. The girls in the troupe were rough and 
coarse, and were jealous of me, and I got so tired and 
sick, I suppose I was cross with Clarence. He had 
always taken light wines ; but I did not mind that until 
after he could not afford wine he took to stronger 
drinks. When he found I had to stop playing he 
seemed to lose all love for me, and began devoting 
himself to one of the young, pretty girls. Drink com- 
pletely changes the nature of a man, Cherry. Well, 
just before baby came we quarreled and he struck me, 
and then he went off with that girl. I heard he had 
a wife when he married me ; but I do not believe that. 
I know he was true until he took to drinking. Some 
one took me to a hospital, and I was too sick for 
weeks to care whether I lived or died. A good Quaker 
woman took baby and me in after we were discharged 
from the hospital. I offered to do housework ; but it 
ended in her having the care of us both, and after two 
months she gladly gave me money to come back to 
Cincinnati. O Cherry, I am so heartbroken over the 
failure I have made of my life !” 

This time Cherry let poor Lena cry, for it seemed 
to do her good. Then she fixed her comfortably for 
the night in Katherine’s bed. “You will yet be the 
comfort of your mother and make a noble woman, 
if you trust God and have hope, Lena,” she said, as 
she kissed the worn face. 

“I am afraid I will always be ‘the bird with a 
broken wing/ ” said Lena, bitterly. “At times I hate 
Clarence, and then again I would tear my heart out 


The Wanderer's Return 


i95 


for him, and hate all good things and good people 
because they are not like the wild, happy life I en- 
joyed for a while because of him. If you knew all the 
baby cost, you would not blame me for hating it at 
times.” 

“You must go to sleep now, dearie. I thought you 
would feel better to talk it out, and then forget it,” 
said Cherry, tenderly. 

Alas ! there was no forgetting trouble like Lena’s, 
and the carts were rumbling in the street below before 
she could sleep. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A Sister’s Influence 

T ENA found the home-going full of unexpected trials. 
^ She was not prepared for the change in her 
mother, and could hardly believe the white-haired, 
sad-faced woman was the fresh, handsome mother she 
had left. She was shocked beyond words at the con- 
dition in which she found her father, and he was dis- 
tressed at the thin, sad face of his idolized child, so 
took her to his heart in a way that made all the other 
hard experiences bearable. It was feared the judge 
would not rally from the shock of this unexpected 
excitement ; but he did, and began to grow stronger at 
once. 

Lena had thought the baby would be an unwel- 
come intruder; but Mrs. Porter took the frail little 
fellow to her heart at once. Lena could see that while 
her mother loved the baby, she did not forget how it 
might have been if the child had had a different father. 
A deserted wife was a disgrace in the proud woman’s 
eyes, and she could not help showing it. The report 
was soon circulated that Lena had no husband, and 
this was the last straw that broke her heart. 

“Lena,” said her mother, after she had listened 
to Lena denouncing all of Rockville, “you have 
brought this trouble upon yourself, and it is true you 
are not sure that you are legally a wife, and you must 
take the consequence and remember you are not the 
196 


A Sister's Influence 19 7 

only one that suffers. The least you can do is to bear 
it bravely.” 

After that Lena kept her troubles to herself; but 
she often felt like running away from it all, deterred 
only by the remembrance of what hunger and home- 
lessness meant. 

Cherry and Margaret were true friends to their 
old companion ; but they could not make society take 
Lena back. Help came to Lena where she least ex- 
pected it. Maud took her up at once, and her social 
standing was not to be ignored. Maud was often in 
her old home which she had bought, and where she 
reinstated her parents. “I did not do so bad in marry- 
ing a rich man,” she would sometimes say, in a way 
that made her bounty a little hard to bear. But to 
Lena she confided the secrets of her heart. “O Lena, 
I know something of the anxiety you have had about 
your husband. I suppose it is always so when a man 
is not a Christian. I simply won’t believe bad stories 
I hear about my husband; but how nice it must be 
to have a husband who does not touch wine or care 
for pretty girls!” 

“Christian men are safer,” admitted Lena; “but 
still some men are all right without being so good 
they are tiresome. Margaret is foolish not to marry 
that splendid Mr. Stevens ; but then she is happy and 
free, and I wish I were. But I am going to try and 
influence my brother Harold. He is flirting with that 
bad, pretty little mill-girl, Lizzie Smith, and another 
disgrace would kill mamma. She just worships him 
since she has been disappointed in me.” 

“I am worried about Charlie,” said Maud. “I love 


1 98 


Why Not 


to have him with me ; but while Phil ’s all right, the 
companions he brings to the house are not the ones 
for Charlie. Lena, I ’ve honestly tried to change Phil, 
to keep wine from the table, and get him to go to 
Church; but it is of no use. It ends in my staying 
at home with him, for I can not risk what little influ- 
ence I have with him. What a fine fellow Rob is ! I 
used to think he was too much of a prig; but, after 
all, he is taking honors at college, and making his 
sisters proud of him. ,, 

“Harold spends so much money at Harvard that 
papa thinks he is n’t doing any good,” said Lena. 
“I ’m going to try and keep him straight when he 
comes home for good. I wish he would fancy some 
good, religious girl like Katherine.” 

Maud laughed as she said, “You did not think so 
once.” 

“No; I think yet it would be wearing to take 
religion into everything as Katherine does; but still 
I see that kind of a girl makes the best wife and 
mother.” 

These two young women had each to learn that 
they would have to lead if they wanted their brothers 
to follow in the good way. 

“Do n’t preach to me, sis,” Charlie would say. 
“Did not you put yourself in a position to have all 
you wanted?” 

“You need n’t be a fool because I was,” Maud 
answered sharply, one day. “I can’t do just as I 
please; but you can and ought to make a stand for 
the best things.” 

“O Maud, you among the prophets !” cried Charlie, 


A Sister's Influence 


199 


kissing his sister. “Come down and give me ten dol- 
lars so I can go on that excursion. Do n’t I earn an 
honest living in that musty old bank, and help my 
parents? You ought to give me a little pleasure, say 
the theater to-night, instead of making me go to 
prayer-meeting.” 

And it ended in Maud taking Charlie off for a gay 
time, instead of going with him to the young people’s 
prayer-meeting, as she had intended when she came 
home for a few days. 

Somehow or other Charlie always managed to 
coax money out of Maud, and of that she had no stint. 
Aunt Dinah was out one day laundering the lace cur- 
tains, and overheard Maud pleading with Charlie to 
give up a companion that was not desirable. After 
Charlie had gone, and Maud had brought her thimble 
to help in mending a delicate curtain, the old colored 
woman could keep still no longer. 

“Lawsy, Miss Maud, you seem to think a fellow 
can paddle a canoe down de rapids one minit, an’ be 
in ca’m water de next. T’ain’t no way to be lettin’ a 
young man fool wid de world one day an’ trying to 
make him walk de narrow way wid de saints de next. 
Says I to Pete’s boy : 'Honey, have a good time one 
way or t’other. If you gwine to de debbil, git all he ’s 
got to pay, fur his wages is death in de end anyway, 
an ’you might as well enjoy all ’s that ’s goin’, an’ 
have all the perquizets he ’s got, jolly friends, an’ all 
that ; but if you ’s gwine t’other way, git clear in the 
middle of the stream — you ’ll find plenty of good com- 
pany an’ nice fun ; but keep clear of the snags that 
folks strike when dey hug de shore.’ ” 


200 Why Not 

“I wonder your stepson is not a preacher,” staid 
Maud, laughing. 

“Preachers hain’t got a corner on religion. Be- 
cause they dispense wid de gospel is no reason they 
should live nearer de other world than de rest of us 
redeemed sinners. ,, 

“This world is almost too much for me,” sighed 
the young wife. “I would give all I am worth to be 
as happy as you are, Aunt Dinah. ,, 

“Ah, chile, outside things, like de color of de skin, 
or de folks round you do n’t make happiness or misery ; 
it comes from inside. Chile, why do n’t you drop your 
burdens on de Lord ? I ’ve heard the first thing dey 
learn a feeble-minded chile is to let go, even if his 
hand has to be struck a little to make him let go. 
Most of us hold on tight to our troubles till we git 
sech a rap we has to let ’em fall into de Lord’s hands. 
Death is gwine to knock our clutch off of our treas- 
ures by ’m by, any way ; so we might as well hold ’em 
loose, an’ be light enough to fly.” 

“I ’m like that miserable picture of the woman 
clinging to the cross, and yet in danger of being 
swept away by the waves any moment. I try to hold 
on to Christ with one hand, and yet the world draws 
me nearly away at times,” said Maud, sadly. 

“Git a little closer to the Rock, chile. There ’s 
hidin’ places for the weakest lambs there,” said the 
old servant friend. 

Maud thought of her husband and his ungodly 
associates to whom she had to show courtesy, of the 
wine at her table, and her prayerless home, and shook 
her head. “I chose the stream with the rapids, Aunt 


A Sister's Influence 


201 


Dinah. I hope to shoot them some way, and land safe ; 
but I seem to have no influence in helping others the 
right way.” 

'Tore lamb,” said Dinah, as Maud went to an- 
other room. "She can’t lead furder than she is willin’ 
to be led herself.” 

Lena was having some such experience herself. 
She knew that Paul, Robert, and even Tommy were 
much influenced by their sisters, and she determined 
to be helpful to her brother. So she bore his re- 
proaches patiently when he saw her Christmas, and 
in a manner won back the old love that was one of 
Harold’s best traits. Lena tried to be bright and 
pleasant while Harold was home; but she mourned 
because every one was so happy over holiday joys, 
while she was so miserable. She noticed Harold was 
drinking too much, and tried to talk to him about it ; 
but he reminded her that her life had not been blame- 
less enough to preach to him. There arose a cool- 
ness after this, and the mother was glad when Harold 
went back to college. A new trouble soon came to 
that mother’s heart, for one February day Harold 
stepped into his father’s office. 

"What does this mean, my son ?” asked the father. 

"I do n’t want any more college with sneaking 
profs in mine,” answered the son, with an oath. 
"Let me go out on a ranch or in a mine, and make a 
man of myself. I ’ve wanted to live the free life of the 
plains ever since I read the books we had in our old 
haunted house. I do n’t want now to go for a lark, 
but to make money and send back some that I owe in 
Boston.” 


202 Why Not 

“Were you sent home for gambling?” asked the 
father. 

“Well, what of it? It ’s no worse than playing for 
prizes at home or dealing in margins,” was the sig- 
nificant answer. 

“I did not think it would come to this,” said the 
father. “You come home disgraced, and yet insolent 
to the only one who can help you.” 

“Come now, father,” said the young man. “We 
were not brought up in the pious King way, and you 
need n’t expect me not to sow a few wild oats. I 
promise you if you will help me out this time and 
give me a chance out west, I will make you proud of 
me yet. I ’ve ponied through college, with everybody 
overlooking my scrapes because of your position ; but 
I want to live a clean, true life now.” 

“O Harold, my son, my son !” groaned the father, 
in the same bitter way the father of olden times had 
done when his cherished son had gone from him. 

“Papa, forgive me,” said Harold, touched by his 
father’s sorrow. “I hate restraint like a wild horse; 
give me a trial where I can be my own man.” 

The father made no promises, though he felt some 
hope in Harold’s sincere desire to begin again. 

Mrs. Porter was bitterly disappointed in her son, 
for she had planned a brilliant career for him. She 
did not reprove him, for she hoped to coax him to stay 
at home, as she had no faith in his reforming in a 
rough western life. He was very affectionate with his 
mother, and she had begun to hope that her love would 
anchor him to a pure, home life, when she happened 
to notice an open letter on Harold’s dresser. A cheap 


A Sister's Influence 


203 


photograph of a pretty, common-looking face fell out, 
which Mrs. Porter recognized as Lizzie the mill-girl. 
She could not resist reading the letter, written in a 
poor hand, with half of the words misspelled, and full 
of silly avowals of love, and hopes that it would not be 
long before he would come and see her, and make her 
his wife. 

“How dare you read one of my private letters !” 
cried Harold, in an angry voice, as he entered the 
room just as his mother laid down the letter. He 
raised his hand as if he would have struck his mother 
if he had dared ; but she turned and left the room, too 
crushed to say a word. Mrs. Porter shut herself up 
in her room, making a headache the excuse, when a 
heartache made her really ill. She was in despair, for 
Harold’s face had indicated that he would not listen 
to reason. By the next morning the overpowering 
love Mrs. Porter had for her son asserted itself, and 
she dragged herself to the breakfast-room, determined 
to try winning him by love. She saw that his break- 
fast was kept hot, and waited anxiously until ten 
o’clock, when she could endure the suspense no 
longer, but rapped at her son’s door, and, hearing no 
response, opened it and went in. She saw that the bed 
had not been opened, and that an open letter lay on 
the dressing case. It was addressed to her, and read : 

“Dear Mamma, — I take the midnight train West. 
I have borrowed some money from papa; but will 
return it. You need not worry about that girl. There 
is no disgrace there. She went with me to get candy 
and gum ; but I said nothing that led her to write that 
letter. I ’m not altogether bad, though I almost lost 


204 


Why Not 


my head with anger when you read that letter. I ’m 
going out west before I do something that may ruin 
everything. I know a man who has charge of a mine, 
and I am sure of a job there. I ’ll write when I get 
settled. Forgive me, all of you. 

“Your loving son, Harold.” 

The borrowed money was three hundred dollars 
that the judge had taken for a debt, and had been 
put in his secretary. Harold had always taken money 
when he wanted it, so this did not seem as serious to 
his parents as his leaving. 

Lena wondered why other girls should have such 
nice brothers and she have such a disappointment, 
while Mrs. Porter said bitterly, “I suppose we have 
made some terrible mistake some place, that both our 
children trample on our hearts and disgrace us with- 
out a pang.” 

“Other children have had their freedom, and yet 
made respectable men and women. I do not believe 
that it is wrong training, but natural meanness,” 
said the judge, who had long been discouraged about 
his son. 

“It makes me all the more bitter to see Maggie 
King with her beautiful, dutiful daughters, and noble 
son, and nice little boy and girl, and yet she has always 
had to fight poverty, while my children have had every 
advantage money could give,” said Mrs. Porter. 

“And the money was their curse,” said the father, 
fiercely. 

“It is queer how the goody-good people get the 
best of things after all,” Lena said one day. “In the 
end Cherry will marry Mr. Nelson, and Margaret Mr. 


A Sister's Influence 


205 


Stevens, and have everything they want, and not have 
Maud's uneasy feeling about her husband." 

“Or yours about not having any," said Mrs. Porter, 
who did not spare her daughter while she was smart- 
ing under the blow of an ungrateful son, as well as 
that kind of a daughter* 

14 


CHAPTER XX 


Peace at Last 

TWO years at work, making little bits of paradise, 
* Christian homes in one of the crowded places in 
the city, passed quickly. Long before the years had 
elapsed the young workers had learned that the best 
help is to teach people to help themselves; that a 
family was happier on plain food and clothing, that 
came from honest wages, than luxuries given by char- 
ity. After a while the workers did not solicit half- 
worn and soiled clothes from wealthy friends to make 
the daughters of working people think faded silk and 
old velvet were desirable things. More and more the 
effort was to get Christ established in the hearts of 
the people who must find life a struggle for existence. 
If Christ entered the poorest home, liquor, and per- 
haps tobacco, went out and prosperity came in. Of 
course, they found the quickest and cheapest way of 
solving the problem of poverty and vice in the city 
was to remove the saloon from the place ; but as these 
young people were powerless to remove the cause of 
most of the misery, they had to take the part of nurses 
who care for the wounded, and try and warn every 
one to keep clear of the enemy’s fire. 

“The love of Christ seems to bring all other bless- 
ings into the home, just as the warm spring air brings 
the flowers,” Margaret said one day. “Even sickness 
and death are not the same with Christ to strengthen 
206 


Peace at Last 


207 


and sustain, and peace gives health, and new energy 
comes with an earnest purpose in life. I am striving 
to make everything work towards getting my people 
to Christ. ,, 

“Even your way of amusing the people/’ said Mr. 
Stevens. 

“Yes; people who can not get entertainment out 
of their minds need more amusement than others. I 
am sure our care for the pleasure of the people of our 
parish has done much to deepen the religious interest 
here.” 

Sometimes Margaret forgot that her friend pro- 
fessed to ignore religion, for he was so near the king- 
dom that he took many of its benefits into his life. 

Sidney Carter was a great help to Margaret. She 
and Polly were keeping house in two rooms opposite 
Margaret, and were at last finding a home in the great 
city. Belle Evans was now keeping house, in a pretty 
suburban cottage, for John Roberts, and both of these 
young people were finding time and strength for much 
aggressive work for God. Little Mamie had gone 
from life’s work, but not until she had been one of the 
fruits of Belle’s Christian endeavor. 

Mr. Stevens was still the kind, brotherly friend he 
had always been. He understood Margaret too well 
now to expect anything else while he held the attitude 
towards the Church that he did. A young woman 
who had for her life motto, “For Christ’s sake,” would 
not unite her life with one who did not hold Christ as 
supreme. But a change had come into the young 
man’s mind, if not in his heart. It was impossible to 
watch the working of that principle in just one family, 


20 8 


Why Not 


and not be convinced that even in this century it was 
possible to live as Christ might have lived, except 
that even in this day Christ would have lived a per- 
fectly sinless life, which does not seem possible to his 
followers. The very best of his disciples must strug- 
gle with human infirmities, with very imperfect judg- 
ments, and many finite limitations. To follow in the 
footsteps of the Master now would not mean his an- 
gelic perfection, but the best that human nature, trans- 
formed by grace, could attain. Mr. Stevens saw that 
a life of devotion to Christ need not always mean giv- 
ing up all worldly possessions, and leaving home and 
friends to live among the degraded. Martha and Mary 
did not, yet they were held in high esteem by the Mas- 
ter. Nicodemus was not asked to become poor, but 
to believe. If he had been born again he would have 
known how to have used his wealth for God. There 
was no wisdom in walking simply because the Master 
walked, for the sensible conclusion was that he would 
have used transportation by steam or electricity if it 
had been in use then, and it had suited his purpose as 
well as walking. If Jesus had not been on a special 
mission for every home, he might have had one of his 
own. To Mr. Stevens it seemed almost sacrilegious 
to think a Christian worker must be a celibate because 
Christ was. The common laws of God were not for 
this most uncommon man. He sanctioned the pres- 
ence of little children by taking them in his arms and 
blessing them, though he could not be a human father, 
being the father of mankind. Christ did not provide 
for his old age, for he knew that his mission was short 
on earth; but he saw that his mother was taken care 


Peace at Last 


209 


of, providing for all the family that could claim his 
care after he was gone. 

Mr. Stevens thought this all out, and saw that it 
was not walking “in His steps” to renounce family 
life. Christ was subject unto his parents; he honored 
the marriage at Cana, and he enjoyed the home life 
under the roof of Lazarus. Christ did not ignore poli- 
tics. He said, “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s.” 
Give such duties the time that they need ; but no more. 
His parables are full of work and the business of life, 
not about people who are off by themselves in rapt 
devotion. The kingdom of heaven is likened to very 
busy people — the sower who went forth to sow, the 
merchant, and the woman who swept her house. 
There were masters and servants, rich and poor in 
Christ’s day, and Christ did not try to change society, 
but to put the heavenly leaven into it all ; the rich to 
care for the poor, the masters to be just, and the poor 
to be contented. Christ wanted but one principle in 
human society, love to God and to one another. Mr. 
Stevens saw that this, strictly followed out, would make 
many changes, and bring peace and prosperity; but 
no one was promised that he should not work. Christ 
took bread human hands had toiled over and fish that 
were the reward of labor, instead of calling down 
manna from heaven, showing that even with his bless- 
ing food must be the result of labor. Mr. Stevens 
thought this all out ; for he wanted to be a true follower 
of Jesus if one at all, and he often wondered if he 
could continue his law practice and be a Christian. 
He decided that the Sermon on the Mount was an ad- 
vocate of justice, tempered with mercy, and he could 


210 


Why Not 


advocate human law in that way. It was not with him 
whether or not any business man did business on 
strictly Christian principles, but whether it could be 
done, and the young man decided that Christianity 
and business could be united. He had not yet found 
a perfect Christian ; but he had found some young peo- 
ple who were trying to be Christlike, and yet were full 
of life and happiness. In his judgment, Mr. Stevens 
was converted to Christianity; but he was not quite 
ready to yield his heart to the experience of loving the 
Christ he now believed in. In the early spring Mr. 
Stevens went west on a business trip, and one night 
stopped at a small hotel up in the mountains. 

“I ’m sorry, sir,” the landlord said, “but I ’ll have 
to put you next to a man who is dying. He came out 
here for his health, and picked up at first ; but he has 
failed suddenly, and his folks can’t get here before the 
end, the doctor says. He can’t last more than through 
the night, so he won’t bother you long.” 

“Never mind me. I am only sorry for the poor 
fellow. If I can be of any use call me in the night,” 
answered Mr. Stevens. 

There was not much chance of sleeping in Mr. 
Stevens’s room, for every groan was heard from the 
next room, and the dying man struggled for breath, 
or had paroxysms of coughing hour after hour. At 
last Mr. Stevens dressed and went to the door of the 
sick-room, and said to the landlord, “Let me watch 
for a while and you take some rest.” 

“Thank you kindly. I ’m clear done out,” and 
the landlord slipped off without further words. 

The dying man opened his eyes and looked at the 


Peace at Last 


211 


stranger. His face was in the shadow, but the light 
of the little lamp fell on Mr. Stevens’s face. 

“O Frank, help me!” cried the sufferer. 

“My God ! Will Barton, can this be you, old boy ?” 
gasped Mr. Stevens. 

“Yes, Frank, and I ’m dying, and I ’m a lost man. 
I know it. There is something just beyond my reach 
that could help me through, but I can’t grasp it. You 
helped me away from the religion of my mother when 
we were at Harvard ; now help me back. I ’m sure 
it ’s her Savior I am trying to find in the dark. Pray, 
O pray !” said the sick man. 

“O, do n’t ask me. I do n’t know how,” groaned 
Mr. Stevens, lifting his friend in his arms, that the 
sufferer might breathe a little easier. “I never 
dreamed it was my dear old chum who was suffering 
here, or I would have been in long ago. What can I 
do, dear old boy?” 

“Pray for me, Frank, O pray!” whispered the 
dying man. 

“I am not the fool I was in my conceited young 
days, Will. I know there is a God, and that some 
people live very close to him, and that he is what you 
want ; but I do not belong to that class. I am ashamed 
to try and pray,” said Mr. Stevens. 

“Pray ; it ’s so dark,” pleaded the sufferer, faintly. 

Frank Stevens fell upon his knees, and tried to 
pray for his dying friend. As he prayed for light for 
another in darkness, light broke upon his own soul. 
The convulsive gasps grew lighter, and a look of peace 
came upon the agonized face, a look that told that 
hope had taken the place of despair. The doctor came 


212 


Why Not 


in just then. He had waited in the hall until that 
earnest prayer was finished. 

“He ’s dead. I feared a terrible hard time at the 
last, he was so exercised over his sins and no parson 
near. I ’m glad you were here. I Ve no medicine 
for dying men,” said the doctor. 

“Christ is all that will do at death, I see,” said 
Mr. Stevens, and the doctor wondered at his deep 
emotion. 

Mr. Stevens took the body of his friend back to 
the old New England home, and was able to give a 
little comfort to the heart-broken mother who had 
followed her son all the years of his thought-wander- 
ing with her prayers. 

Soon after the funeral, Mr. Stevens wrote the whole 
story to Margaret, and Katherine entered the room 
one day and found Margaret reading the letter with 
tearful eyes, but a very happy smile. 

“O Katherine, our prayers have been answered, for 
Frank Stevens has become a Christian, and what an 
earnest one he will be!” said Margaret. 

“O, I ’m so glad,” cried Katherine, catching Mar- 
garet in her arms after the fashion of girls. “And now 
I shall be all alone.” 

“O no,” said Margaret, coloring. “He has long 
ago gotten over wanting to be more than a brother. 
He says nothing that every one might not read.” 

“Wait until he comes home,” said Katherine, 
laughing. 

It was true that there was nothing in the letter 
that gave any idea of the young man’s love for Mar- 
garet. He had thought for some time that she had 


Peace at Last 


213 


become indifferent to him, and the new experience of 
Divine love filled his heart so completely he forgot 
for a time the disappointment of not having the human 
love he had craved. 

“Now I have something to tell you/’ said Kath- 
erine. “I had thought seriously of being a deaconess, 
and I — ” 

“I have felt a distinctive costume might be of 
service in our work,” interrupted Margaret. 

“Would n’t it do as well if I labored in your midst 
as the wife of a city missionary?” asked Katherine, 
smiling and growing very rosy. 

“O Katherine, how stupid I have been !” exclaimed 
Margaret, now returning her cousin’s kisses of con- 
gratulations. “I have wondered why Mr. Jones came 
here so often and asked for so much of our help in 
his mission. You have sung yourself into his heart; 
but I can’t blame him for wanting you.” 

“You won’t lose me for several years,” said Kath- 
erine. “He wants to study more, and I shall stay here. 
I should have told you sooner, but I did not know it 
myself. We both thought until lately we had but one 
thought, that of saving every one in this end of town.” 

Margaret laughed as she said, “There were many 
symptoms of a desperate love affair now I recall' the 
last month or two, but I have been so busy I have not 
noticed it. I have so completely given up love affairs 
for myself, it does not occur to me other girls might 
be having them.” 

The letter that answered Mr. Stevens was care- 
fully written. It was full of joy over his new experi- 
ence ; but the young man searched in vain for more, 


214 


Why Not 


and by that time he was hoping a good deal, now that 
there was no barrier of unbelief between himself and 
his dear young friend. 

As soon as he returned to the city he called at the 
settlement home. Katherine came to the door, and 
greeted him warmly, and told him that Margaret had 
overworked and had gone home for a few days of rest. 

“I hope she is not sick/’ Mr. Stevens said, anx- 
iously. 

“No, but I think she has had all of this kind of life 
that she can stand. She was brought up in purer air, 
and has never gotten along well in the city. She ought 
to live in a better place. ,, 

“I wish I could make her think so,” said the young 
man. 

“You could, if you tried hard enough,” said Kath- 
erine, who, like all lovers, wanted every one happy in 
the same way. 

“O, Miss Katherine, do you really think so?” asked 
the young man, eagerly. 

“Go, ask Margaret if you want to know,” said 
Katherine, archly. The young man rushed off as if 
the police were after him, and swung himself on the 
rear end of a suburban train just as it was pulling out. 

“You must be crazy, man,” cried the conductor, 
pulling the young man out of peril of his life, “could n’t 
your business wait for the next train?” 

“Not very well,” replied the young man. 

Mr. Stevens had somewhat composed himself by 
the time he reached the King home. He saw that 
Margaret was alone in the sitting-room. By the gas- 
light she looked thin and pale. The front door was 


Peace at Last 


215 


ajar, so he slipped quietly in, and Margaret felt rather 
than saw him near her. She was thinking of him, so 
she gave a glad little cry of welcome before she could 
collect her thoughts. 

“Is there any reason now why we should not be- 
long to each other ?” he asked, in his direct way. 

“No,” she answered in her direct way. “Each for 
the other, and both for God,” she whispered, leaning 
her head against his strong arm, as if she had found 
a safe resting-place. 

“My love for your Master makes you all the 
dearer,” said Mr. Stevens, and Margaret knew that he 
was praying as he held her for the first time in his 
arms, and the last fear vanished. 


CHAPTER XXI 


Cherry's Mission 

A FTER all, Oherry was the first to leave the home 
** nest. Her young theological friend finished his 
studies in June, and was ready to go west to an im- 
portant new work. He had little difficulty in persuad- 
ing Cherry that her duty lay in that direction too. 
Mr. Stevens urged a double wedding; but Margaret 
insisted upon being at home another summer, as Nan- 
nie would then be old enough to take some of the 
care of the home off the mother, who was not as 
strong as formerly. Sidney Carter was to take Mar- 
garet's place in the city home, and Margaret wanted 
to superintend the work there a little longer. 

“I hate to give up my nestlings/' said the fond 
mother. “But I want my girls, yes, and my boys, to 
make happy homes of their own. It is as in the days 
of early Greece. The women went to the altar of 
Hestia to get fire to kindle their own hearthstones, so 
I hope my children will take the home light of their 
own childhood home to other homes." 

“We 've started quite a spark in a crowded part of 
Cincinnati," said Cherry. “Something must catch 
from all our enthusiasm." 

“Katherine said, after her last visit home, and you 
knows she runs up often, that Paul had almost made 
her home over. You should feel flattered, mother, 
that your home is considered a pattern. Maud told 
216 


Cherry's Mission 


217 


me the other day it rested her to come here out of 
her oastle of splendor, and she said she was going to 
bring up her little girl as much as you are doing with 
Ruth as possible. She seemed to forget there were 
older daughters for an example,” said Margaret. 

“I ’ve made many mistakes/ ” said Mrs. King, 
soberly, and then she wondered why her older daugh- 
ters laughed. “Your Aunt Jennie used to ask me if 
I were not afraid you girls would grow up tomboys 
with so much outdoor exercise, and I have expected 
to see Robert brought home drowned from the river, 
or injured from the ball-ground; yet I had to take 
some risks, for you were all such restless, active chil- 
dren, and bent on having your own way.” 

“O mother, how you forget!” cried the girls. 

“O, you ’re all right now. No mother ever had 
more dutiful daughters ; but I think you have needed 
happy lives, and as you will have enough care some 
time, I am thankful for all the good times young peo- 
ple can crowd in. I am so pleased with my three pros- 
pective sons, for Katherine seems like a real daughter. 
I am thankful Mr. Jones is not a sickly-looking min- 
ister. I do n’t believe a dyspeptic man ought to be 
allowed to preach. He can’t have the sweetness of 
spirit and clearness of vision one should have in trying 
to lead souls to a higher living, unless he overcomes 
the effects of dyspepsia by God’s grace.” 

“Is that a slur on my little minister?” asked Cherry, 
with laughing eyes. 

“Bless your heart, no. George is strong and well ; 
and if he were not, he is such a lovely character I 
would want you to marry him,” said the mother, 


21 8 


Why Not 


quickly, for she had forgotten Cherry was sensitive 
about being an inch taller than her promised husband. 

“Yet, mother, you will admit that the pale, ethereal 
looking ministers have a more saintly look. Mr. Jones 
looks more like an athlete than a minister/’ said 
Cherry. 

“We need very substantial saints for these practical 
days. No matter how pure the spirit, a healthy body 
is desirable. You will notice, girls, that the modern 
painters are not making Christ thin and pale, but a 
good specimen of manhood. There is no record of 
his ever being sick, and he had physical strength for 
long fasting, and for nights of prayer and long walk- 
ing. His presence must have been inspiring, for those 
he drove from the temple cared nothing for his au- 
thority.” 

“Well, you will all have to agree that most of the 
great men of the last century have been little men,” 
insisted Cherry ; “brains can make up for mere brawn.” 

Everybody agreed with Cherry those last happy 
days of her girl life. Her wedding belonged to every 
one, because the sweet bride was the darling of so 
many people. There was no wine, nor dancing, nor 
hothouse flowers at Cherry’s wedding. Her girl 
friends decorated the church with home-grown flowers 
and vines, and the gathering after the ceremony at 
the home was simple and informal. The young couple 
went at once to their western home, and Cherry began 
life in a dugout in Silver Cliff, one of the new towns 
that had sprung up as by magic when the rich silver- 
mines were discovered in the southwestern part of 
Colorado. These mines were rich in ore, and only 


Cherry's Mission 


219 


twenty miles from the railroad, and as there were good 
farming lands in the valleys not many miles away set- 
tlers were pouring in rapidly, and yet Mr. Burton was 
to be the only minister in the new town. 

“I hope you like it here,” said the new husband a 
little anxiously, as after several days’ hard work the 
parsonage was declared settled. 

“It ’s all lovely,” replied Cherry, with enthusiasm. 
“Of course the town is rough-looking and queer, built 
all on one long street ; but see the snow-capped moun- 
tains in the distance, with the green valleys in sight. 
There is a certain charm about the want of order in 
the town, like a face that is so rugged and homely it 
is positively fascinating.” 

“But what do you think about the house?” ques- 
tioned the minister. 

“It is as fine as any of my neighbors. It is as cozy 
and pretty as can be; and if it were not, you know I 
would rather live in a dugout with you than a palace 
with any one else,” and the young husband was quite 
satisfied. 

The dugout was a room built underground to save 
foundation and sides. There was a large window in 
the roof to let in air and sunshine, and boards on the 
ground for a floor. The home was not all a dugout, 
for there was a small sitting-room built of boards in 
front, which gave the dwelling quite the look of a 
house. The rooms were neatly furnished, with new 
paper on the walls and bright carpets on the floor, 
with books everywhere, as these young people had 
been using their spare money to purchase them for 
some time. The front room had to be parlor and 


220 


Why Not 


study. Cherry had a little table in the bedroom, where 
she could have her work when her husband must be 
alone. The kitchen had a screen before the stove, so 
there could be a tiny dining-room. A little room dug 
into the sand and lined with boards made the pantry. 
Altogether it was about as large as a good-sized play- 
house, and Cherry wrote home she felt so thankful 
her husband was not a large man, for if he were he 
would be very much in the way while she was trying 
to play keep house. 

“Are you ready for company ?” Mr. Burton asked 
one evening late in autumn. “I am sure young Porter 
is here, and we must try and win him back to a good 
life if we can.” 

“I wish it were Charlie, though,” said Cherry. 
“Aunt Jennie writes that he does not write as fre- 
quently as he once did. He had a good place when 
he first went to Denver; but he does not stick to 
things long, and I fear he has lost it. I wish he were 
near us ; but I would not dare have him among these 
rough miners.” 

Charles had been west since early spring. 

“No, indeed,” said the minister; “but if Harold is 
here, we must make him feel he has friends. I might 
bring him up to dinner to-morrow.” 

“All right. I ’ll have something good on the table ; 
for that is the quickest way to win the heart of a man, 
I ’ve heard.” 

“You won my heart by making eyes at me while 
other people were reciting Greek or Latin,” said the 
minister. 

“What a misstatement for a minister to make!” 


Cherry’s Mission 


221 


cried Cherry, chasing the young man out of the 
kitchen with her wiping towel. 

“I ’ll go down for the mail. The stage must be 
in, and then we will take a walk. First let me wipe 
the dishes. ,, 

“There is not room in my kitchen,” answered the 
minister’s wife. “Hurry back, for I will be ready, 
and the views are so fine in the sunset glows.” 

The evening work was soon finished, and Cherry 
ran to the door to meet her husband. He looked 
troubled, and said at once : “There was a young man 
who got off of the stage that must have been your 
Cousin Charlie, though he looked older than when 
I last saw him. It won’t do to let him stay at that 
wicked boarding-house.” 

“He could sleep on the folding lounge in the par- 
lor; but it would disturb your study,” said Cherry. 

“And be hard on you. We will wait till to-morrow, 
and he may hunt us up. I saw Harold go into a 
saloon. I must go down to the hospital to see a man 
who has been hurt and may die. Could you stop at 
our washwoman’s ? She has asked me no end of ques- 
tions about the care of that new baby, which were not 
down in theological works.” 

“My mission here shall be to supplement things 
men never can know,” said the wife. 

The day had been warm ; but it was always cool 
after the sun went down, so Cherry put a soft, white 
shawl around her and went off, glad of a walk with 
her husband; for he was so absorbed in his sermons 
and his rough hearers, or rather those he wanted to 
be hearers, that Cherry had to be quite sensible not 
15 


222 


Why Not 


to feel neglected. They had a few moments of real 
satisfaction, and the minister went to the injured man 
and tried to cheer and comfort him, while Cherry took 
the cross baby for a while and repeated all she could 
remember of baby lore, thankful for the experience 
in the city mission, where sick babies with ignorant 
mothers were every-day matters. It was quite dark 
when the minister returned. Cherry had bathed the 
baby and used some simple remedies, and her charge 
was asleep. 

“I think I was able to help the poor fellow. He 
is in danger, and very willing to have me pray and 
talk,” said Mr. Burton, as they walked along the 
street, now growing noisy, as the men, free from their 
work, were having their rough sport on the sidewalk 
or in the open-doored saloon. As they passed one of 
the worst places in town they heard loud voices, and 
then the report of a pistol. 

“You know this man; come in, parson,” yelled the 
proprietor from within. 

“Run home quick, not back to Mr. McCarey's,” 
the husband said. “This is no place for a lady.” 

“There may be danger for you, and my presence 
will restrain these rough men,” she whispered, follow- 
ing behind him, and for the first time devoutly wish- 
ing her husband was a tall, commanding-looking man. 
If the preacher was not a man of startling proportions, 
he had a firm way with him that made even these wild 
men fall back and let him pass. The sight that met 
Cherry's eyes would have made her take flight, but 
for her determination to shield her husband, if pos- 
sible. A strong, young man was being bound hand 


Cherry's Mission 


223 


and foot by other drunken men, who were crying, 
“You have been robbing us of our hard-earned money, 
and now you have killed a stranger without fair play, 
and if there ’s a place that will hold you, you shall 
dangle before the hour has passed.” 

On the floor lay a boyish-looking young man, 
whose yellow curls were growing crimson with blood. 
Both the minister and his wife saw at a glance that 
the murderer was Harold and the victim Charles, his 
boyhood friend. 

“Stop !” cried Mr. Burton, in a tone of command 
that made even the hardest man hesitate. “There has 
been violence enough here to-night. If you do not 
save that man from the mob, I will see that you suffer 
for it, Johnson. Have the men who are sober enough 
take Porter to the lockup, and I promise that to- 
morrow he shall have a fair trial.” 

The proprietor knew that the little minister had 
great influence with the mining company, and began 
to take some of the men off of the prisoner. 

“Are there none of my men here ?” asked the min- 
ister, in a very impressive way, a question that might 
be resented in a land where Church members were 
not supposed to frequent a gambling den. 

“I ’m here, an’ I ’ll down any one who teches you 
or your young lady, or who do n’t follow out your 
orders ; fur you was good to us when the baby died, 
an’ my woman sets great store on your preaching an’ 
keeps things tidier an’ is pleasanter since she went to 
your meetin\ The little minister is captain here to- 
night, or you answer to big Tom.” The giant who 
spoke emphasized this with an oath that made even 


224 


Why Not 


these hardened men quail, for he was the worst man 
to fight in the mining district. 

Mr. Burton was thankful for this opportune help, 
and lost no time in getting Harold off with Tom and 
an assistant. His next thought was of his dear young 
wife; but she had hardly thought of herself, for she 
had been kneeling on the floor trying to stop the blood 
flowing from her cousin’s wounds. Harold struck his 
victim down with a miner’s pick before he drew his 
pistol, and there seemed little hopes that life could be 
saved. A shutter was taken from the house, and some 
men carried Charlie to the hospital, where there was 
a surgeon. He was able to bring Charlie back to con- 
sciousness, but gave little hope for his life. There was 
a broken hip from the blow ; but the pistol wound was 
slight, as the ball just grazed the skin. 

“Please let me stay with you, George,” pleaded 
Cherry. “After a while Charlie might be able to 
speak, and will want to send some message to Aunt 
Jennie.” 

“You may be thankful you have such a strong 
wife,” said the doctor. “I Ve been expecting her to 
faint every moment, but she has nerved us all up.” 

Cherry was faint and frightened, however, when 
the necessity of heroism had passed, and was glad 
when it was arranged that she could lie on a cot in the 
next room, where her husband could call her if it were 
necessary. 


CHAPTER XXII 


One Taken and the Other Left 

'T'HE next morning Cherry and her husband left 
* the hospital, after obtaining the best nurse they 
could find. There was a good hospital at Silver Cliff, 
though it was in a low, unpainted building. The min- 
ing company had stationed the head surgeon at this 
place, and he had assistants at several mining points 
near. 

As the minister and his wife passed the rude jail, 
the keeper came out and called Mr. Burton in. He 
soon returned to the street looking very sad, and said 
to his wife: “Go home, please, and have some hot 
coffee ready when I come. I will be there before very 
long.” 

Cherry saw, in spite of his effort to speak calmly, 
that her husband was much disturbed about some- 
thing; but she wisely kept silent and hurried home, 
meeting the miners going to their work, all of whom 
returned her good morning pleasantly; for the min- 
ister’s pretty young wife was already a favorite with 
the men, and Cherry knew her presence was a help 
to her husband in restraining these rough men. It 
was a relief to forget the strain of the night in simple 
household duties, and Cherry took special pains to 
have a tempting breakfast ready for her husband. It 
is well for women that the common duties of life save 
them from too much indulgence of feeling and anxious 
225 


226 


Why Not 


thought, for many a temper is swept away, or desire 
for a fit of weeping lost, while busy with some absorb- 
ing labor for the home. Cherry thought of this as 
she beat up her muffins to a delicate lightness, and 
she could understand how labor was a blessing rather 
than a curse. She did not hurry in her preparations 
for the morning meal ; but she -had quite a time of 
waiting before she heard her husband's ringing step. 

His face was very white and sorrowful as he took 
his wife in his arms, and said tenderly: ‘‘I thank God 
for two things this morning, — for parents who started 
me on the right way in childhood, and for a strong, 
unselfish wife Who will help me keep right. ,, 

“Dear, are they going to hang poor Harold ?” she 
whispered, frightened by her husband’s manner. 

“No, dear; but, as I had feared, we came too late 
to save him. While you were resting Charlie was 
conscious some time, and he told me the whole story. 
He met Harold in Denver, and played for money with 
him. Charlie says Harold learned to gamble with 
marbles, and has had a passion for it ever since. Of 
course he won, and Charlie did not have enough to 
pay him, though he gave up the money he had saved 
to go back home to see his mother. Harold came 
here, and, failing to get work at once, wrote to Charlie 
that he must have that money. Charlie wrote back he 
must earn it first. Then Harold wrote if Charlie 
would bring up half of it he would let him off. Charlie 
wanted to see the country, and thought he could in- 
duce Harold to give up the claim if he talked it over, 
so he came on the five o’clock stage, and took supper 
with Harold. Nothing was said about the debt until 


One Taken and the Other Left 


227 


they got to the saloon, and then Charlie said he did 
not have the money. Harold began calling him hard 
names, and Charlie said it was Harold’s fault that he 
ever had gambled, and it was not an honest debt, and 
with that Harold got into a fit of anger, being under 
the influence of bad whisky anyway; and you know 
what happened. It seems when Harold found himself 
behind the bars, instead of a feeling of gratitude that 
he had been spared a miner’s way of punishment, he 
raved over his loss of money and being treated like 
a common felon, long after he was left alone. The 
warden did not go to the cell until early this morn- 
ing, when he found the poor fellow dead upon the 
stone floor. The doctor was at the hotel, and we have 
had the post-mortem and found the cause of the death 
heart failure, brought on by excessive drinking and 
great excitement. There was no indication that he 
tried to take his own life.” 

“That is something to be thankful for,” said 
Cherry. “It would have been worse if he had de- 
stroyed himself.” 

“Ah, that is the sad part of it. He did destroy 
himself by degrees. But, darling, you are trembling. 
We must forget this night. How good the breakfast 
smells! We will eat, and we will hope for the best 
with Charlie. I have telegraphed to Harold’s father 
to know what we shall do. We must leave the soul of 
the poor fellow with God.” 

The young people ate breakfast quietly, but with 
keen appetites, and after their Bible lesson and prayer 
George went back to the hospital, and Cherry tried to 
settle her mind on her household duties. 


228 


Why Not 


Later a telegram came asking that the body be 
shipped to Harold’s father, and that evening the min- 
ister started with the long, pine box in a wagon, that 
the homeward journey might be begun on the first 
eastern-bound train. 

Mr. Burton telegraphed simply the death of Harold 
by heart-failure, and then wrote a kindly letter shield- 
ing the dead man as much as was possible. But the 
minister’s kind words were not the ones that were to 
tell the story of the tragedy in the far-away home. A 
traveler left for Denver the morning that Harold was 
found dead in his cell, and the whole story was soon 
telegraphed all over the country in the most exagger- 
ated form. The bare announcement of his son’s death 
almost prostrated the father; but when he happened 
to be first to see his morning paper, and read the 
terrible story of “Probable Murder,” “Saved from 
Being Torn to Pieces by an Infuriated Mob,” “Took 
his Own Life,” and other horrible details given for 
startling effect, rather than with accuracy, the proud, 
overburdened heart of the father gave way, and the 
apoplexy the doctors had feared came suddenly. Be- 
fore the coffin of the son came from the far west the 
father was sleeping his last sleep. 

All this was as yet unknown in the little town 
where the young minister and his wife were watching 
anxiously the flickering flame of life in the sufferer. 
Mr. Burton wrote immediately in such a way that 
might give hope, and yet induce Mrs. Harland to 
come to her son. The first critical week Cherry staid 
by her cousin almost day and night, and her husband 
saw that he must telegraph for the mother, or his wife 


One Taken and the Other Left 229 

would be ill. In his times of delirium the young man 
had begged for his mother, and his friends watched 
anxiously the first evening she could possibly arrive. 
That evening Charlie awoke from a troubled sleep, 
and said in a natural voice: “I felt my mother’s hand 
on my head. That was my mother’s hand.” 

The doctor lifted a warning finger; but it was too 
late, for Mrs. Harland sprang to her son’s bedside, 
and took his bandaged head upon her breast and cov- 
ered his face with kisses. 

“I got here an hour ago, and I could not help lay- 
ing my hand on your head, though the doctor said I 
must not speak to you,” said the mother. 

“Much good my orders did,” said the surgeon in 
a rage, as he stalked away, saying after all his care 
the fellow would die now. But he did not. While the 
fever increased the first hour, Charles soon sank into 
a quiet sleep, for the desire of his heart was satisfied. 

The mother did not see the grown man who had 
strayed from home, and had almost lost his life in a 
gambling den; but her own “Charley boy,” “her 
baby,” as she had always called him. Her very pres- 
ence seemed to soothe and strengthen him, and he 
improved rapidly, and was soon strong enough to 
talk and hear his mothor read aloud, which she did 
to perfection. 

“It almost pays to be imprisoned in a plaster cast 
to have your toast, mamma, and your stewed chicken,” 
the invalid would say. “No one can read or sing or 
cook as well as my mother.” 

They had many long talks together, and one even- 
ing Charlie said : “Mother, I shall be a different man 


230 


Why Not 


after this. I have never been as bad as some of the 
boys in the mines or on the plains, for I did not forget 
the prayers I used to hear father make when I was 
down in time to hear them. And I knew that you 
were praying for me. When they thought I was un- 
conscious and thought I would not come to, I felt 
that I was to have a chance to be a better man.” 

“Darling,” replied the mother, “I believe God will 
yet restore you to health, and that you will atone for 
the mistakes of your life. You are not all to blame. I 
might have been more careful. I see things differently 
now. It is a great deal better to have a life that seems 
dull, than one that exposes a young person to danger. 
I thought having a good time the great thing, and I 
let you children associate too much with people who 
lived only for this world. Edith might have lived, and 
Maud made a happier marriage if I had lived less for 
this present world, and more for Christ.” 

“Edith is happy, and Maud has a world of good 
in her, and we can influence her to do her best where 
she is,” said the son, hopefully. '“We will help each 
other live for God.” 

“Indeed we will, my precious boy,” sobbed the 
mother, and then and there, with her arms around her 
son’s neck, she gave herself to God as she had never 
done before, and began to be a mother to her chil- 
dren in the highest sense of the word. 

It was early in the spring before Charles could 
stand the long journey home, and then with the pros- 
pect that the crutches he carried might be lifelong 
companions ; but those who loved him most, hardly 
thought of that, for the young man had changed so 


One Taken and the Other Left 


231 


in character. The weak, boyish face had grown sweet, 
but strong, in its manly expression. Charles Harland 
showed that he had been in a hard battle, but had 
come off more than conqueror. 

Aunt Jennie had been a welcome guest in the little 
dugout home. Of course, Cherry had thought that 
she knew all about housekeeping; but she found in 
many ways she was glad to appeal to the older house- 
keeper. 

“It looked easy to see Mollie or Margaret mixing 
bread; but it is a different thing to do it all alone, 
especially if there is no tempting bakery near/’ the 
young wife admitted. “If my husband had boarded 
himself into dyspepsia when at college he would have 
died at my hands, for I gave him rich desserts and 
cakes in which I pride myself; but I could not make 
my bread rise to the times/’ 

Not only in the little home, but in the outside 
work, Mrs. Harland took an active part. She helped 
Cherry cover the pulpit the minister had made out 
of pine boxes, and was a success in giving entertain- 
ing readings in the club-room the minister opened on 
the street. The minister’s wife had coaxed this long, 
rude building from the superintendent of the mine, 
and for a year the Church was to have it free of rent. 
The front room was fitted up with tables, for all kinds 
of harmless games. Books and papers were in abun- 
dance ; but it was a little disappointing that the miners 
did not care much for good literature. There was 
a counter where lemonade and coffee were for sale, 
and sometimes homemade pies and doughnuts and 
ginger-bread of Aunt Jennie’s manufacture, all at a 


232 


Why Not 


nominal cost. Back of the reading-room was a rude 
gymnasium, where the exercises were too rough for 
the minister’s wife’s refined taste, yet much above the 
brawls at the saloon. 

“It must have cost something to fit this up, and 
it does not pay expenses,” said Mrs. Harland. 

“It will in time,” replied the minister. “It would 
be a poor way to give these workingmen even their 
pleasures. Fortunately my wife was left a very bril- 
liant diamond-pin for her name.” 

“O Cherry, you have not given away Cousin Han- 
nah’s legacy of her five-hundred-dollar pin !” ex- 
claimed her aunt. 

“O no ; but not being able to wear it here, and not 
wanting to tempt robbers, I lent it to the Lord. Mrs. 
Richards, the surgeon’s wife, wanted it, for she spends 
months in gay society in Denver, and she gave four 
hundred dollars for it, and with that we have been 
able to start this club and repair the church. My hus- 
band says we have to provide a substitute for the 
saloon, since we can not get it out of the way just yet. 
These workingmen will have some recreation after 
the day’s work is done. What we get in books and 
conversation is nothing to them. Even music and 
bright recitations will not reach all. It is warm and 
bright at the club. They find comrades there and 
something to eat <or drink ah3 a place for exercise, so 
the place draws. George says to give a weary man 
a happy, care-free hour is getting him a good ways 
toward Christ.” 

“But, Cherry, we were taught that Christ ought to 
satisfy the human heart. If you could get these rough 


One Taken and the Other Left 


233 


men soundly converted, would not religion be 
enough ?” asked Aunt Jennie, who had grown very 
near the source of life while nursing her boy back 
from the grave. 

“We have often talked about that/’ said Cherry. 
“When people get near the end of life they drop all its 
pleasures, as children do faded flowers. We noticed 
that in dear Anna. She took the greatest interest in 
our good times until towards the last, when she had 
her mind fully fixed on the nearer world. But I have 
noticed the most saintly people, unless sick or very 
old, will have their recreation, though they often refuse 
to acknowledge it as such. Sometimes it is walking, 
or reading, or talking with friends, or eating good 
things ; but even the saints feel the need of something 
that is not mere duty, but pleasant to some earthly 
sense. So, Auntie, I take it that as dear Miss Haver- 
gal said, ‘God not only supplies our needs, but our 
notions/ ” 

“Perhaps you are right,” said the aunt. “I made 
such a mistake in wanting too much pleasure I hate 
to see anything but devotion to religion now.” 

“Some people are frightened because there is a 
change in the trend of sermons now,” said the young 
preacher. “It is not now the pulpit thought that a 
Christian must spend his time with eyes lifted to 
heaven in rapt devotion, like the devotee waiting to 
be absorbed in Brahma, the Christian mystic hoping 
to be caught up in the air and carried by angels to 
the true God ; but that a Christian should be an active, 
earnest man, helping on the great things of the world, 
and lifting up the poor and fallen, , and leading all 


234 


Why Not 


around him to the Master, full of the spirit, but letting 
that spirit bear fruit in good works.” 

“And, George, we found in our mission work that 
often stones had to be rolled away by human hands 
as well as by angels,” said Cherry. “I am sure, auntie, 
one of the stones here is the saloon, and our amuse- 
ment room is getting St a little out of the way, and 
giving us some hearers ready for the good news.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Katherine’s Comfort 

“DOB, how was it at college? Could you live up 
* ' to the motto that you adopted, ‘For Christ’s 
sake/ and belong to the football team, and join in 
the fraternity scrapes?” Mr. Stevens asked Robert 
King one day. 

“It was not always easy,” replied the younger man. 
“As to football and other athletic sports, I felt it did 
me good. Those things are too severe for some light 
fellows, and they had better let them alone. But I 
honestly felt I could pray for success. I would n’t 
undertake anything on which I could not ask God’s 
blessing. Of course I lost some games because I 
could not bluff and kick as some did. I tell you, 
Frank, it makes a big difference how you set about 
winning anything if you know that Christ is with you, 
and that is what I have been brought up to believe 
religion is. I find I can play golf without swearing.” 

“But do n’t you feel the swear sometimes ?” asked 
Mr. Stevens, a little anxiously. This man of thirty 
years was very desirous of being a true follower of his 
new-found Master. 

“Yes, but I find every time that I resist that or 
any other temptation it grows less the next provoca- 
tion. I thought at first I ’d cut the frats, and those 
that are simply for big social times ought to be cut; 
but I reasoned that I might be helpful in a frat, and 
235 


236 


Why Not 


ours had the best men in college. It’s a bad thing, 
Frank, for religious college men to go off in a boat 
by themselves, and occasionally throw out a prayer- 
meeting line to the worldly set.” 

The other man nodded and smiled. 

“Besides, Frank, I wanted a good time too. I 
could n’t take Greek and metaphysics straight without 
any sugar-coating. I ’m not a student, but a man of 
action. That *s why I chose surgery. I want to be 
doing something.” 

“For which passion many a poor fellow will lose 
a limb,” answered the brother-in-law elect. “But 
could you go the whole rope with the frat,” falling into 
college parlance as befitted the subject. 

“Not quite, and we had a good set too ; our share 
of preachers, you know. But while some stood for 
hops, we kept dancing and wine out, owing to the in- 
fluence of a few of us, who determined to take our 
religion into our fraternity.” 

“Were you always sure you were not too par- 
ticular?” 

“No, perhaps the cranks, as we were called, were 
too strict ; but no harm came of it, and harm did come 
several times from others going too far the other way,” 
answered Robert. “It 7 s the same in the medical 
school. Holding fast to the side that is surely for 
Christ sometimes brings the laugh on a fellow; but it 
is the only safe way. Of course, it is easier for Kath- 
erine and Margaret to live the close life, trying to do 
everything 'for His sake/ because girls have very few 
temptations and more time to be good, for we have to 
make sure of earning a living, you know.” 


Katherine's Comfort 


2 37 


“Margaret's an angel, anyway," said the lover, 
fervently. 

“Indeed she isn't," laughed the brother. “But 
she 's a mighty nice girl, true and unselfish, though 
you 'll find, my boy, she '11 show some spirit if you 
abuse her, and she 's a little sensitive, and, like all 
women, thinks her way is all right." 

“I would not care for a woman without spirit," 
declared the husband elect. 

“I think you will be able to hold your own," said 
Robert. “If you did not love each other to the verge 
of idiocy, pardon me, the fact that you are each trying 
to be like Christ would keep the olive-branch in the 
house. But I am glad you agree on the question of 
amusements." 

“I '11 agree on any question she wants, if she will 
only drop that settlement work and make me a home, 
in the slums if necessary; but any place with her is 
better than as it is now," was the fervent answer. 

“O, Margy prefers the house on the terraced hill 
to the cot below; but if she felt she could do more 
good there she would live in an alley. She is only 
waiting for Cherry to smile on her wedding-day. 
Now I must drive out with Charlie. I believe he is 
going to come out all right with that lame leg ; but if 
he do n't, he is going to be a fine fellow anyway. Now 
he has gotten down to business, he is going to make 
a success as a newspaper man." 

“Will he have to be on a religious paper to be true 
to Christ?" asked Mr. Stevens. 

“Certainly not, though that may be his work in 
time. He is not making as much money as he would 
16 


238 


Why Not 


if he worked on a paper issuing a Sunday edition; 
but he is doing well, and has some time for literary 
work. His western story was taken by the Century, 
and that means something to a beginner. It is no 
mean work to entertain people by clean, pure stories ; 
for people will read for entertainment, and there is 
enough trash on the market. Charlie has a field in 
good story-telling, and he will not leave out religion, 
you may be sure. Nor will he ignore religious writ- 
ing ; but he hopes to get some gospel into mere bread- 
and-butter writing.” 

Charles Harland had written tales of the “blood- 
and-thunder” kind in his younger days, and some of 
them had seen the light; but now he began to write 
with a better purpose than simply firing the imagina- 
tions of his readers, and giving them the darkest side 
of the human heart. He had an editorial friend who 
did not, as Charles hoped, immediately put him on 
the editorial staff, but said : “Most of the great writers 
began at the pastepot and scissors, overshadowed by 
the devil. Write all you can, cutting each article down 
twice, and between times come in the office and fold 
papers or write letters, or fill in when some one is 
out, and we will pay you the little it is worth to us.” 

Charles found his work quite menial at first; in 
fact, the editor meant it should be so. Soon it was 
found Harland knew something of shorthand, and he 
was sent out to do some reporting. And after some 
hard work in waiting, the young man found himself 
among the great army of newspaper men. Some in 
the office called him a queer chap. He treated to soda 
or peanuts, but never to wine or cigars, and would not 


Katherine's Comfort 


239 


do Sunday wOrk, unless it was to take down sermons. 
Mrs. Harland now found her greatest comfort in the 
devotion of her son, and Maud tried, for his sake, to 
be a better woman in her difficult situation. 

“O Charlie !” she said one day, “if one wants to 
live for Christ she should never put herself in a place 
where it is almost impossible.” 

“But God can overrule our mistakes. Live for 
him in spite of being without human help,” said the 
brother. 

All this time the Porter home had been desolate. 
The only comfort that Mrs. Porter had left in life was 
the beautiful child, who was a dear little fellow in every 
way. 

In the winter a great relief came to Lena. She 
learned for a certainty that her husband was dead. 
At first she grieved about her past life more than for 
the false man who had been her ruin; but in a few 
months there came a new cheerfulness, which was in- 
creased by the knowledge that came to her that she 
was really the legal wife, and the others had been de- 
ceived. This made her proud mother treat the daugh- 
ter with more consideration, and Lena gathered all 
her weak nature together to try and make her mother 
happy, and in some way atone for the past. 

“She ’s beginnin’ to take notice, an’ I ’m mighty 
glad,” Aunt Dinah said one day when she was out 
for special work at the King home. “She ’s been all 
this year like a woman with a corpse in the house. 
Now she can bury her trouble out of sight. No use 
talkin’, from the minute the earth claims what is her ’n 
nature begins tryin’ to heal the hurt. Some women 


240 


Why Not 


grieve more fur what they did n’t have in their hus- 
bands than fur what they Ve lost. Sich generally pick 
up mighty quick, an’ begin lookin’ round to see if they 
can’t have better luck next time. Her ma won’t. She 
had her mate; but I look fuh Lena to do well yet. 
Now it ’ll come hard to Miss Katherine to give up 
Mr. Jones.” 

“O, Aunt Dinah, do you think his breaking down 
is as serious as that?” asked Margaret, anxiously. 

“Yes, honey. De Lord gibe that young fellow 
more ’n common in bodily strength, though sometimes 
the white-livered kind can stan’ the most wear an’ 
tear. Anyway ’cordin’ to his own tell he never took 
no care of his body, an’ it has gone to rack. Jacob’s 
ladder had one foot on the ground, honey, an’ we ’ve 
got to keep in with the earth side of our natures or 
we can’t stay here. But Miss Katherine will find some 
comfort in this ’fliction, fur she does in everything. 
It ’s only dem dat live only fur pleasure dat can’t stan’ 
de storms.” 

“We will hope for the best, Auntie,” said Mar- 
garet; but she knew that the old colored woman was 
right, and that this talented young minister was not 
long for this world. 

That afternoon Katherine came in. She was pale, 
but she spoke with her usual cheerfulness. 

“After all, Margie, I am to be married first. The 
doctors have had a consultation over Will’s case, and 
they agree that he must go at once to some high lati- 
tude out west. One of the doctors has a ranch there, 
where we can live in a cabin near the big house, and 
be safe and quiet, but near friends, which comforts me 


Katherine's Comfort 


241 


greatly. They do not give us much hope; but the 
change is worth the trial, and, of course, he could not 
go alone, and his mother is too old to take care of 
him.” 

“So you will, my brave darling,” said Margaret, 
kissing her cousin tenderly. 

“Certainly. I have sent for mother and Paul and 
his mother, and they will be here day after to-morrow, 
and I know I can claim this home for my wedding. 
Sidney’s mother will come and live with her, so you 
will not have to go back to the city, where you thrive 
so poorly.” 

“You were bom to be a ministering angel, Kath- 
erine,” said Margaret. 

“I was once a very selfish kind of an angel,” said 
Katherine, laughing. “I thought I was mighty good, 
as Aunt Dinah says, but I cared only for feeling good.” 

“It ’s important to feel good if you make others 
feel that way,” said Margaret. “But you have learned 
both to feel and do, which is best of all. Even in a 
western ranch you will find opportunities to work for 
the Lord.” 

“It ’s all for him,” said Katherine, softly. “I want 
Will to get well to work for him, at least I hope that 
is my first wish, though it seems desolate to think of 
living now without his companionship. It ’s well I 
have learned to scrub and cook and nurse in the mis- 
sion, for I won’t be able always to get help. I ’m 
going to trust God to restore Will to health, but do 
my part in nursing him in the best place I can find. 
I want to be sunshiny ‘for His sake/ ” 

“Katherine, you do live nearer Christ than I. I 


Why Nof 


242 

wander if your years of quiet devotion did not fit your 
spirit to bear more than mine,” said Margaret. 

When a Christian meets death triumphantly, it 
leaves a blessing upon even those who mourn most; 
and when a soul bears a great living sorrow nobly, 
those nearest press on to higher places with more 
courage. Cherry’s wedding had been nothing but 
merriment and joy, while Katherine’s was more of a 
holy sacrament. Mr. Jones was so feeble he could 
stand only long enough for the shortest ceremony, 
and his friends spared him any words of congratula- 
tion ; but Katherine, after seeing that her husband was 
resting comfortably and had some simple nourishment, 
came out with her friends and talked as cheerfully of 
their going away as if no shadow was on her heart. 
“It is such a comfort,” was one of Katherine’s favorite 
expressions, and to-day she found many things to com- 
fort her — 'the cool evening they would have to begin 
their long journey, the fact that everything would be 
ready for them when they reached their little home, as 
telegrams had been sent on by their kind doctor friend. 
It was Katherine who comforted the poor little mother, 
who felt she would never see her son again, and made 
the parting easy for every one by her hopefulness and 
her words of trust. 

It was not long until a long letter came back to 
the mother, who staid a while in the King home. 
Katherine wrote in her bright way of how much bet- 
ter Will stood the journey than one could have ex- 
pected, and how they had felt encompassed with 
prayers all the way; how the ranch was in a beautiful 
spot in a high valley, so they had mountain air, with 


Katherine's Comfort 


243 


the blessings of the rich valley. They were near the 
finest fruit country, and would have everything of that 
kind they could desire. The cabin was comfortable 
with the luxuries that were taken from the home 
friends, and their near neighbors were kindness itself, 
yet left them to as much quiet as they wished. “Will 
is already stronger, and walks and rides a little, and 
we are very happy because we can see this wonderful 
scenery, and bask in sunshine without sweltering in 
heat. We have decided that it is a joy just to exist 
in such a place, and we have each other and, most of 
all, God, who seems nearer than ever here in the heart 
of nature. My Bible text to-day had this verse with it : 

“I know not where His islands lift 
Their fronded palms in air ; 

I only know I can not drift 
Beyond His love and care. ,, 

That is our comfort, dear ones. We are in His keep- 
ing. Who can desire more?” 


The Added Things. 

T 1 HIS story does not end ; it simply stops. The 
* young people whom we have known went right 
on learning more and more of the beautiful truth that 
living for both worlds gives the most perfect happiness 
in this. “Why not?” was always answered by “Be- 
cause forbidden pleasures belong to the lower rather 
than the higher life. Because things that lead the 
soul away from Christ had better be given up.” It 
became enough to these young disciples that the Mas- 
ter had devoted his life tO' doing good rather than 
seeking pleasure. 

There is a striking picture in the Berlin gallery 
of a young man on a flying horse in hot pursuit of 
pleasure. He tramples virtue under his feet, leaves 
everything good by the way; but pleasure still eludes 
his grasp. Death is gaining in the rear, and will soon 
stop the chase after the unattainable. People of 
mature years, looking at this picture, know that it is 
true to life, and would save every young friend from 
making pleasure the end of existence. Yet he who 
loses his life for Christ's sake finds it again, and he 
who seeks first the kingdom, gets even more of the 
“added things” than he who seeks first the things of 
this world. Our young people had the same success 
in business and the same domestic joys that came to 
their more worldly friends. In fact, some advantages 
accrued that were not possible to those who thought 
only of present enjoyment. 

244 


The Added Things 


245 


Some are teaching that to consider hourly “What 
would Jesus do?” means literally “forsaking all.” If 
it did, the joy of being like the Master would com- 
pensate for the loss of this world; but the Heavenly 
Father does not often ask this of his children. These 
young people, though trying to follow the steps of the 
Master, and refusing “the taking of such diversions as 
can not be used in the name of the Lord Jesus,” were 
not perfect by any means. They had temptations of 
various kinds, and found that victory came only when 
living very near Christ. 

“I see I need more ‘proppin’ on de leanin’ side/ 
as Aunt Dinah says,” Margaret said one day. “I have 
been wounded because some one has been criticising 
me unjustly.” 

“Perhaps you may find there was some cause for 
remark, dear,” the mother said, gently. “If so, do 
better next time. If not, be happy anyway. I used 
to think much of people who were always buzzing 
around trying to make some one else happy ; but as I 
grow older I see that a perfectly happy person around 
is worth all the rest. There is something very con- 
tagious in a really happy disposition. It means unself- 
ishness to be happy, for if one thinks of self there is 
always some cloud. I do n’t know that we are re- 
quired to be sympathetic if it makes us gloomy. The 
person who shows another how to bear a hurt bravely 
is worth two who say 'poor child.’ ” 

“O mamma!” said Margaret, laughing. “You al- 
ways kissed the bruise, and yo-ur kisses cured many 
a bump.” 

“Yes, and when I did not see it you soon forgot 


246 


Why Not 


you had a bump. I think I might have improved my 
children if I had earlier made more of the joys of each 
day, and less of its sorrows.” 

“As if we could have been improved !” cried Mar- 
garet, in mock surprise. “Anyway I have something 
to tell you that will make you forget your failures in 
child training. There is one advantage in living on 
the edge of fashionable society, for occasionally we 
can win some one to better things. We can all see 
a gradual change in Maud, and now her beautiful 
friend, Mrs. Rose, is beginning to use her voice for 
Christ. She has been giving money freely for the last 
few months, but now she is beginning to give herself. 
This elegant woman goes on Sunday to lead the sing- 
ing of the Christian Endeavor Society of her Church, 
and sometimes she works with the Epworth League 
of St. Paul's Church, and sings at the hospitals or in 
the very poorest parts of the city, and she has one 
of the finest soprano voices.” 

“That is good news, real gospel, that such an in- 
fluential woman is finding happiness in doing good,” 
answered Mrs. King, heartily. “While one soul is 
worth as much as another in the sight of God, there 
is as much difference in what people can accomplish 
as between candle power and electric-light power, and 
I am glad when a strong light can be put in a dark 
place.” 

“Dinah would say ‘De tallow candle does a heap 
of good/ ” said Margaret. 

“Yes, better a candle if you want to carry a light 
down cellar or make one in the night that will not 
wake up a baby. All that God requires is that we use 


The Added Things 247 

all the candle-power that we have,” answered the 
mother. 

“I am glad big glaring lights are sometimes in the 
way,” said Nannie. “It ’s a comfort to the candle that 
there is a mission for small things.” 

“Little candles often light large places,” said the 
mother. “You remember the poor woman off the 
coast of Wales who for sixty years kept a candle burn- 
ing in her window each night because she lived near 
a dangerous rock which had once wrecked a great 
ship. She spun an extra skein of yarn each night to 
pay for her candle, and with her little light saved many 
lives.” 

“Mrs. Rose told me something beautiful she had 
read about Jenny Lind,” said Margaret. “The story 
was that when the great singer was in the height of 
her glory, she happened to ride in her elegant carriage 
by the seashore. She was resplendent with diamonds 
on her costly attire, and was thinking of all her gran- 
deur when she happened to be struck by the glory of 
the sea at sunset. Then she felt her own insignificance 
and God’s greatness, and realized she had been drawn 
away from God by fame and admiration and wealth. 
Then and there she decided she was paying too great 
a price for her fame, and retired from public life that 
she might live nearer God.” 

“Whether or not that story is true, it is that we 
often find deep consecration to God in people who are 
thrown in public life,” answered Mrs. King. “I long 
ago found I was not the only one who did not want 
to bow the knee to Baal.” 

Margaret’s wedding might as well be the closing 


248 


Why Not 


picture taken from the chronicles of the King family, 
which will end the story in the good old-fashioned 
way. It was not what Maud called a “select affair,” 
for Margaret invited friends from the settlement, who 
sat beside her husband’s aristocratic relatives. There 
were young matrons with their husbands, who were 
girlhood friends, and young women whom Ruth se- 
cretly called “old maids,” for in her young sister’s eyes 
Margaret seemed very ancient indeed. In the big 
bay window where they had all made play-houses, or 
sat at mamma’s feet, Margaret stood under a canopy 
of white chrysanthemums and ivy, and made and re- 
ceived the sacred promises that should be the begin- 
ning of the most perfect life earth can know. More 
than one who caught Margaret’s thought in the ex- 
pression of holy joy on her face thought of the beauty 
of the figure of the Church as the bride, going forth 
to. meet the Bridegroom, making marriage the highest 
and holiest type of union earthly language can sug- 
gest. The young husband, while he had not reached 
the spiritual insight into things possessed by his bride, 
felt this an hour when human love made Divine love 
better understood, so there was something about this 
wedding that lifted many hearts into a nobler, higher 
atmosphere. It is not natural to stay long on the 
heights, and after the supper every one was as merry 
as the occasion warranted. The very aristocratic 
guests were somewhat scandalized by seeing the young 
people out on the lawn, playing “drop the hand- 
kerchief” by the light of the moon. 

“Laws, if Miss Margaret ain’t it” said Aunt Dinah, 
who was watching her favorite from the side door. 


The Added Things 


249 


“She will always keep de chile in her, an’ sich make 
the sweetest women. Why should n’t de chil’ren of 
de King laugh an’ play ? De only wonderment to me 
is how folks who can read their title clear ever go 
mournin’ here below. ’Spose we do n’t git all we 
want, there’s nothin’ to hinder bein’ joyful in de 
Lord.” 

“That is the best kind of joy,” said Cherry, who 
happened to come in at that moment. 

“Yet I mind when you thought it mighty hard in 
your pa an’ ma’ cause they would n’t ’low you to go 
to dancin’ school, an’ do lots of things that have spiled 
many a good gal. But you ’ve lived to see the good 
things added, ’case you were driv to seek the best 
things. But, la me, what if we do not have what we 
want here? I reckon one hour in heaven will make 
up for all we give up to git there,” said the colored 
saint. 

Soon after this the family gathered around the 
eldest daughter to say good-bye. It was a time when 
the father and mother tried to forget the separation, 
and think only of their daughter’s happiness, and of 
the son added to the family circle. The father’s part- 
ing words were : “Make the new home a joyous one, 
my children. Do not be afraid of fun and laughter; 
for a merry heart doeth good like medicine, and there 
is always more to rejoice over than to grieve over. 
You will have sorrow; but you need not bear it alone. 
God’s promises never fail. Be so happy and useful, 
my children, that others will not wonder why you are 
not more given to worldly things, but will because of 
you be attracted to heavenly ones. In every choice, 


\ 


250 


Why Not 


even in your recreations, ask, Will this take us nearer 
or farther from God? If you follow the course that 
leads upward, not only will His presence be given, 
but all needed things will be added, so that you may 
be sure not only of the present life, but of that which 
is to come.” 
















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